Cry of the Eagle
by Crescent Moon Dancer
Summary: The rebellion failed at the last minute. The Capitol is back in control. The Hunger Games are back - with double the tributes. And this time, the president takes a personal interest in one of of the tributes: A sixteen year old girl, who poses a threat to the stability of Panem's government.
1. Chapter 1: The Reaping

**(Please note that I made and own the cover image of this story. I made it specifically for this, so please don't steal it. You can be sure I'll report you if you do.)**

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I crack my eyes open, staring at the strip of pale sunlight that cuts a path across the floor. I turn over, burying my face in my pillow, trying to recall the dream I had been having. Oh yes, I had gotten reaped for this years Hunger Games, the first one to take place since the Capitol had regained control of Panem. "Nice try, Miss Everdeen," I mutter muffledly. The rebels had been overthrown after they had practically won the war, and now the Capitol was coming back with doubled venom. Literally: they were now demanding double the tributes for their abominable Games.

I turn over and throw a pillow across the room, where it lands on my sister, Laterose. "Wake up Rose. We don't want to be late for the Capitol," I say loudly. Rose sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She frowns over at me. "That's not even funny," she says sternly. I toss back my blankets and swing my feet onto the floor. "I had a dream," I tell her as I pull on my clothes. She looks up, watching me closely. I avoid her stare. "I'm going to be reaped," I say. I bend over, pulling on my work boots. Her sharp intake of breath tells me this news was not what she expected. She gets up and comes over to me. "Are you sure?" she asks gently.

"Positive," I reply. "Hurry up, the livestock needs taking care of." I twist my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck and jab some pins into it aggressively, then am out the door of our small house. Our parents died in the rebellion a few years ago, leaving my sister and I to our own devices. As a result, I am as sore at one Katniss Everdeen as I am at the Capitol.

I go to the barn where I hear our three cows lowing to be milked and fed. I pick up the buckets right inside the door and go first to the rusty colored cow, Juney. She prods my shoulder with her wet nose, mooing loudly in my ear. "Shut up, Juney," I say, shoving her head aside. "I'm hungry too. Be glad you're a cow, you get fed first." I plop down on the little stool that we keep for milking. "And if you kick the bucket over today, I'll chew your leg off," I add threateningly. After the livestock is taken care of, I go back into the house, which smells pleasantly of new bread. Laterose keeps our mother's garden out back well tended, and we always have some sort of fruit or vegetable to eat. She must be making pumpkin bread, since we have no wheat, and there are pumpkin shells neatly piled by the door. "Come on, get cleaned up and come have breakfast," she orders. She is already neatly attired in an old dress of our mother's, a spring green frock with a little bit of frill at the neck. I wash my hands and face and change into some clean jeans and a blue checkered blouse. I slip my feet into my good brown leather boots and redo my hair. Rose glances up at me. "You're not going to wear something fancier?" she asks.

"Why bother? I'll still look a million times nicer than the freaks in the Capitol," I point out. We sit down to a breakfast of warm pumpkin bread and a tender, boiled chicken. After the dishes are washed and dried, Rose sits still while I braid her hair in what was once known as a French braid. And then she's locking the front door, and we're gripping hands tightly, while we walk towards the town square.

I never liked crowds, and I absolutely hate mobs of people. I stand amidst the other sixteen year olds, clenching my fists, fighting the urge to scream, or run away. I completely ignore the new video from the Capitol, showing both rebellions, and their disastrous outcomes. Finally, the woman assigned to District Ten, Deena Catterpole, begins the repulsive ritual. "Well, that certainly is enlightening!" she gushes, referring to the video. "I'm sure we all enjoy being educated from time to time." She beams her silly smile over the crowd before she notices the murderous looks some of us are throwing at her. "Well, let's crack on, shall we?" She totters over to the girls reaping ball, slightly unbalanced by her foot-high, spindly heeled shoes. She pauses at the half full globe. "I thought we might have a little break from tradition this year," she says brightly. "Instead of girl girl, boy boy, I thought we might go girl boy boy girl." She looks slightly unnerved by the sea of silent faces staring at her, and clears her throat loudly. "Well then, happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" She plunges her manicured hand into the glass globe and surfaces with a slip of paper. I know my dream was real, so I concentrate on finding Rose in the crowd. Our eyes meet, and I nod. Deena's high, silly voice rings out over the crowd. "Brandi - Ilonwich." The crowd parts to let me through, and as I walk to the stage, I allow myself a fleeting smile of grim satisfaction. Our last name always gives anyone we don't know a pause, and it was particularly satisfying to have the ridiculous creatures from the Capitol at a loss as to how to pronounce it.

I climb the steps and saunter to my place on the stage. "Well, we're off to a good start!" Deena says brightly. She minces over to me and shoves her microphone in my face. "How old are you, dear?" she asks. I decide to make thing very interesting for this woman. "Old enough to be in your bloody Games, but not old enough to escape them," I say, fixing my point of focus on a spot somewhere above the crowd. Deena's smile falters slightly as the assembled people try to stifle their chuckles. She hitches her toothy grin back into place and scurries over to the boys ball. "It's the boys turn, now!" she trills. I pay no attention to the reaping, I intend to take out my district partners first thing, before we can form an alliance. I glance at the girls ball, and a see, with a thrill of horror, the name on the slip that was near the top: Laterose Ilonwich. Instinctively, I know which name Deena will pick next, and my insides curl up at the thought of us both being in the arena.

I casually put my hands behind my back, sneaking my hand into the back pocket of my jeans and pulling out an elastic hairband and a large, smooth stone. Shifting position slightly, I load my makeshift slingshot and wait, watching for the right moment. The second boy is climbing onto the stage now; now Deena is talking to him; now she is turning back to the girls side. Now! I sneak my hands to one side, still mostly hidden, but where I can get a fairly good shot. She has almost reached this side of the stage when I release my stone. There is a resounding crash, a musical tinkle, and the hissing whisper of thousands of paper slips sliding onto the ground. I instantly whip the hairband back into my pocket and stand with a look of detached interest on my face. Deena is in a tizzy, and the crowd is startled and somewhat agitated. As Peacekeepers surge in from all sides to help Deena, I catch Rose's eye and wink, ever so slightly. Her eyes widen briefly, then a look that I know all too well settles on her countenance.

Deena is tottering back and forth, trying to snag a slip of paper, and getting more and more distressed. The crowd is utterly silent again, watching her struggling to cope with the situation. "We must have another girl tribute!" she says to the Peacekeepers.

"I'm sure no one would mind if you volunteered, Deena," I say callously, still staring off into space. Laughter explodes from the sea of humanity in front of me, and Deena looks like she's about to explode. She plucks a slip of paper from the new pile at the edge of the stage. "Abigail Samton," she says, and doesn't attempt any pompous questions or announcements. "Well, here are our tributes from District Ten. Shake hands, you four," she says, looking harried. The other three shake hands, but I remain where I am, arms folded behind my back. We are escorted to the Justice Building and lead into our separate rooms. I plop down, waiting for Rose to appear. She does, and kneels down to take my hands. She stares into my eyes a moment, her mouth trembling. I cross my eyes at her, and she bursts out laughing. "Why did you break the ball, Brandi?" she asks.

"I saw your name in it, and I knew Deena was going to get that slip of paper, I just knew it," I tell her. She stares at me a bit.

"You could have been executed on the spot, if they found out," she tells me soberly. I shake my head.

"They'll just make sure I'm one of the first to go in the arena," I say. She grips my hands tighter. "You will try to win, won't you? You will try to come home?" I give her a squeeze.

"I'll do more, ducky, I will actually succeed." She hugs back, and for a moment, we just sit there, holding tight to each other. Then we break apart, and she wipes her eyes. "Good luck. I'll keep the farm going til you get back." I nod, unable to say anything. Then Peacekeepers are there, and I watch as my sister is marched out the door. I sit a moment, thinking. I'm not one to show any emotion, ever, so there was no way for anyone to know about the numbness that was growing inside me. I comfort myself with the thought that in one more year, Rose will be too old for the Games, and we'll both be free of them. As Peacekeepers come in the door, I stand up, my expression stony again. They grab my arms and attempt to march me to the train. "I am sure you are capable of walking to the train on your own, you need not use me as a support," I say acidly. We tributes board the train, and see Deena Catterpole and our mentors waiting for us. "Now, ladies and gentlemen-" Deena has started the speech I knew she had planned. I completely ignore everyone and stalk to my room, slamming the door. I glare at the cameras. "Don't care what you stare at, do you?" I say, the scorn in my voice almost tangible. I fling myself in a chair, and watch as the fields and meadows, houses and barns of District Ten roll away, then vanish completely in the distance. Everything I knew was changing. No matter what the outcome of the Hunger Games are, my world will never be the same again.


	2. Chapter 2: Train Ride to the Capitol

I sit in my room on the train, staring at the blur of colors and shapes flashing past the window. I try to suppress the growing feeling of panic inside me, but it spreads throughout my whole being, like some sort of intangible poison. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, thinking of the coming horror. I am honestly unsure of whether or not I can win. I don't particularly want to kill anyone, but I know my survival instincts will kick in when I step off the platform, and I know I will do whatever it takes to stay alive. It's who I am.

I don't bother to look when the door bangs open. It's one of my fellow tributes, I know. The adults would knock first. Abigail Samton's voice reaches my ears. "Miss Catterpole says you're needed in the sitting room." I can already tell Abigail's tactic: suck up to everyone. No self respecting Hunger Games tribute would call Deena, 'Miss Catterpole'. She's a bloody Capitolian.

"That's nice," I say, no expression in my voice. I don't make a move to get up. I hear Abigail advance into the room, and can feel her standing behind me.

"You were very rude to her at the reaping. You made her lose face," she says, her voice accusatory.

"If I had a face like that, I'd want to lose it," I say disrespectfully. She stalks out and slams the door, and I allow myself a moment of grim satisfaction. Doubtless she's off to tell on me. I don't care. What can they do to me now? I settle down in my chair. They could do without me.  
It's perhaps half an hour later that there is a soft knock on the door. I ignore it, knowing whomever it is will come in anyway. The door opens slowly. "Brandi? Don't you think you ought to come have dinner?" I open my eyes and stare up at the tall young woman standing in front of me. She is our mentor, mine and Abigail's. I avert my gaze, staring out the window again.

"No," I say. She frowns.

"Why not?" she demands.

"Not hungry," I respond, a little irritated. I wasn't going to dinner, wasn't that good enough for her? I expect her to persist. I am not disappointed. She sits down in front of me.

"It's not just food. We can start preparing you -"

"I don't need your preparation," I interrupt. "I'm not incompetent, thanks." She sighs in frustration.

"Look, it's my job to help you. I won a Hunger Games, I know what to do." I tear my gaze away from the window and look at her instead.

"Of course you do - in /your/ arena, against /your/ tributes, with /your/ supplies from the Cornucopia. It's going to be completely different for me. And I know all the basics," I add, talking over her. "Find water, find food, stay away from the unfriendly population, kill any menacing life I come across. There's only so much you can tell me." She just looks at me. I stare back levelly, refusing to be the first to look away. She stands up abruptly.

"Fine. If that's what you think it is, fine. You're on your own. I offer my assistance, and I get sneered at. When I watched you being reaped, I thought you might actually have a chance of surviving. Now that I see what you're really like, I can also see the plain, ugly truth. You're going to be one of the first to go." She closes the door, none to gently. I stare after her.

"Ouch. That hurt," I remark sarcastically to the empty room. I get up and stretch. Might as well go to dinner. I wasn't paying attention at the reaping, and I better get a good idea of what the boys are like. I saunter over to the door and open it. The boys mentor has just raised his fist to knock. "Bring that down and I'll floor you," I say casually. I push past him, into the dining car. Deena is sitting at the head of the table, pontificating at everyone about the history of the Capitol. She stops talking, and everyone watches me as I slide into the vacant seat. I ignore them and plop some random food on my plate. One of the attendants quietly comes forward and fills my glass with wine. Even though I'm from a farming district, I know a good wine when I smell it. I have an acute sense of smell, and this is a particularly fine specimen of blueberry wine.  
Deena clears her throat. "As I was saying, the National Archives Building was founded, if you can believe it, by the son of a -" I tune out her pompous lecturing. Are we actually supposed to care who founded the National Archives Building? I catch the tail end of what she is saying. "It's a pity you all can't visit it while you're there." The temptation was too strong.

"A very great pity," I say gravely. "There's so much to be found out in the National Archives. I really do hate to miss it. I do so enjoy being educated from time to time." The ring of silent faces all focused on me is too much. I take a drink of the excellent wine and shudder slightly, putting down the glass. "Horrible stuff. I don't see how y'all can stand it." I get up and walk out, my face twitching in spite of myself. I am one of those awful people who delight in shocking others, especially those of an inferior breed. I return to my room and stand in front of the door a moment, my eyes unfocused. If I wanted to see Laterose again, see the farm, the livestock, District Ten, everything I knew, three of those people sitting at that table out there would have to die. The living, breathing, sentient beings who were at this moment probably talking about me would have to leave this world, their lives snuffed out. It was more than I could stand. I never really liked people as a general thing, but this brutal mass killing was absolutely unbearable. Forty-three teenagers killed each year. My legs give out as I am gripped by a wild desperation to escape it, to stop it. Someone had to take my place! They had to! I couldn't stand it! Regina was right, I would be one of the first to go. Forty-three teenagers, who at this moment were riding their various trains to the Capitol, would, in a few weeks, maybe months time, be nothing but cold bodies lying in a wooden box in the ground. Forty-three, if I was to stay alive. Forty-three people, their lives simply ended. Forty-three teenagers sacrificed for the Capitol's entertainment.  
Darkness closes over my senses as panic and nausea reaches a crescendo inside me.

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** I started this story about two years ago, so the writing is terrible in the first nine chapters or so. XD I'm hoping it improves, but I wrote a chapter yesterday, and it wasn't great either. Also, when I first started writing it, I was just like Brandi, so she's supposed to be me. Well, I've changed a lot since I started this thing, so Brandi will too. You don't have to hate her forever. XD Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. :) Even if they are just to say "This story is trash!" or something cheerful like that. XD**


	3. Chapter 3: The Remake Center

I stand with my arms crossed, glaring defiantly at the three brightly colored people standing in front of me. "I am not stripping," I say flatly. "I'm just not." My prep team is almost in tears. I can't help feeling slightly sorry for them, but I remain obdurate.

"Brandi, we have to do this. It's our job," begs Antilla, the eldest. She has vibrant pink hair, short and curly. Glittering gems are implanted all down her arms. Silver glitter in her hair catches the light every time she moves her head. She's somewhat hard to look at.

"Compromise then," I say stubbornly. "I'm not going naked."

"I have an idea," says Aquavius. We all look at him. "Why don't we let her go out all hairy and hideous?"

"Now, hold on a moment!" I am not happy. "Just who do you think you're calling hideous? Because I'm naturally colored and not all tattooed up all over, I'm 'hideous'?" I glare at them.

Maybe I should explain about my prep team. They're typical Capitolians: Freaky, painted, shallow. There's Antilla, the eldest. She's bossy, twittery, and pink. Bright pink.

Aquavius is just what his name suggests: Aqua. Corkscrew curls of a neon aquamarine. Blue tinged skin. Glittery aqua eyeshadow. He's silly, impatient, and twittery.

Then there's Violus, the youngest. Lavender skin, dark purple hair, artfully applied pink and purple eye makeup. The only things that aren't purple of some shade are her eyes, which are a dark, soulful blue. She's sweet, shy, and twittery.

Let me state here and now that I do not hate my prep team. They've been nothing but sweet to me since we met. They enthusiastically swept me off to the Remake Center as soon as they saw me, having high-flown ideas of how to make me beautiful. The hair was stripped off my arms and legs, with my prep team chattering away the whole time, expressing the wish that I didn't have to go into the arena, where doubtless the weather would ruin my complexion. They finished prepping the exposed parts of my anatomy, and prepared to do the private ones. Then we encountered problems.

Antilla, Aquavius, and Violus are determined to do the thing properly. I am equally determined to keep my clothes on in the presence of a masculine person, and say so. My prep team heaves a pent up sigh of relief. "Why didn't you say so to begin with? I'll go see if Terrence has something for me to do," Aquavius says, and exits. I'm still not thrilled about stripping, but I obey Antilla's and Violus' commands, even chat with them as they work. Antilla does something to my hair to make it glossy and silky smooth while Violus works on my nails, shaping them, filing them, putting gloop on them.

"Aquavius was supposed to manicure your feet," Antilla says in a slightly disapproving voice. I choke on some juice I am sipping.

"Manicure my feet?!" I'm unsure what to think. "I am not have any part of me permanently painted," I tell them.

I have always managed to remain expressionless when needed, kept my voice flat and my gaze distant. I have always been able to receive rattling news without be rattled. I have always been what some people consider 'unflappable'.

That was before I met my prep team.

Now I feel like I'm teetering on the brink of a cliff, constantly in danger of toppling over the edge. All because of the outrageous suggestions these three people make. The scary thing is that they're being perfectly serious.

Half an hour later, Antilla gives my hair a final brush, Violus gently washes the last of the goop off my nails, and they let me sit up. "Time for Terrence to have his turn," Antilla says grudgingly. I start to make objections to him seeing me in my current state, but Antilla cuts across me. "You can wear this." She hands me a skin tight, flesh colored body suit. It's not much, but I pull it on anyway. "Thanks," I say. I do feel bad about the trouble I've given them, but I am determined to keep as much of me private as possible. Do none of these Capitol creatures have any sense of propriety?

"Don't thank us, it's just our job." Violus squeezes my hand, looking me up and down. She leans forward and whispers to me, "You were beautiful even before all the preparation." Antilla beams at me before they leave, and as I sit alone, waiting for my stylist to make an appearance, I try to puzzle out how something as twisted as the Capitol can spawn such wonderful people.

I rearrange my face back to it's blank expression as the doorknob turns. My stylist enters, and I stare at him. Dark brown hair crowns a completely normal face. There is not a bit of makeup on him. He appears to be in his early forties. He comes in and sits down across from me.

"Hello Brandi. I'm Terrence, your stylist. I daresay you know why I'm here." He seems to be waiting for an answer, so I pull myself together and offer one.

"I daresay I do. You're here to design my outfits for the chariot presentation, the interview, and the Victory Tour."

A wry smile tugs his mouth. "Confident much?" Before I can answer, he continues. "You're right, of course. I am here to do all those things. But for now, let's concentrate on the Chariot costume. District Ten is livestock, correct?" I nod dumbly. I was not looking forward to masquerading as a cow or pig.

"But livestock, while neccessary, isn't very impressive. And since most in the Capitol assume all animals come from District Ten, I was thinking of doing something more inspiring." He watches me closely. I stare back, betraying nothing.

"I was thinking of making you a bird."

I literally feel my dead pan slide off my face. Terrence was worse than my prep team. "I'm allergic to feathers." It's all I can think to say.

"We'll figure something out." He stands up, and I follow suit. "Let me look at you now." He walks around me, nodding approvingly. He taps my shoulder. "This suit was Aquavius' idea. He came out bearing a story of an uncooperative girl who wouldn't be seen by him under certain circumstances." I pull my robe on as Terrence continues. "He also knew you wouldn't let me see you like that, so he had this whipped up." I stare at him.

"But Antilla gave it to me, it was lying on the table behind her."

"Not the whole time. It got dropped off while they had you turned away from the door." He puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a friendly squeeze. "Now go see your mentor and Deena, give me time to get your costume done." As he escorts me to the door, he whispers in my ear, "Don't think too badly of them. They're just doing they're jobs. They'd be executed if it was found out they didn't prep you properly." I walk to my room and sit on the bed, thinking about what Terrence had said. Of course they'd be executed. I had known that, deep down, but I was so busy thinking only of the tributes deaths that I hadn't thought about my prep team's. As I slowly get dressed, I make a silent resolve to swallow my instincts and not make things hard for them.

There is a knock on the door. I am expecting Deena and Regina, but instead, Antilla, Aquavius, and Violus bounce in. "Terrence said you would probably have dinner alone, so we came to keep you company," Aquavius says enthusiastically.

"We can't stand the thought of you being lonely," Violus tells me sincerely. Tears glitter in her eyes as she envisions me dining alone.

Antilla presses a button, and a table, laden with decadent food, rises out of the floor. We all sit down, and I know there is no one with whom I would rather be partaking of this repast than Antilla, Aquavius, and Violus. As I watch them chatter away, I know I have to win the Games, not just for Laterose and District Ten, but for three other people. Capitol people.

My prep team.

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**I can't believe how short and choppy my sentences were. I'm just too lazy to go back and rewrite the whole thing. XD **

**Once again, any reviews, good or bad, are greatly appreciated. :)**


	4. Chapter 4: City Circle

I stand before the long mirror in my room, staring at the dress I am wearing. Five people stand behind me, staring at the same thing. "How did you do it?" I whisper in awe. Terrence, my stylist, comes forward and smooths the skirt in the back.

"I knew what I wanted to make you, and then I knew how to do it. You know what you are, of course?" I do. I am a swan. My dress appears to be strapless, but there are clear rubber straps keeping it from falling off. It is snow white, with a snug bodice, that flares into what was once known as a mermaid skirt, only now it looks like swan feathers. And speaking of which, there is not a single one on my dress. Terrence has done something to the material to make it appear feathery, but in truth, all I am wearing is filmy fabric. My prep team has done something to my hair that made it curly, and it's pulled up into a bun on the back of my head, with soft curls tumbling down my back. Soft peach lipstick had been applied, turning my lips the color of a swans beak without being garish. Charcoal eyeliner furthers my resemblance to the majestic bird.

I am speechless, truly they had turned me into something wonderful. I smile up at Terrence, genuinely liking him. He smiles back, then goes over to the bed and picks up two small bundles of film. "Oh, I almost forgot. Your wings." He slips them on my bare arms, and I stare at the image in the mirror. The soft, gauzy material is attached to a couple of arm bands that fit just below my shoulders, the cloth falling in the uneven shape of swans wings. Terrence, my prep team, and I are all quiet, just gazing at the bird-girl in the mirror. Then Deena breaks the spell. Clapping her hands together in a business-like manner, she brings over a pair of white, strappy shoes with very high, very thin heels. To my eyes, they don't even resemble foot gear.

"I can't wear those, I'll fall over!" I say, feeling a flutter of panic. Breaking off a heel and falling on my face doesn't seem like a sound way of gaining sponsors. Deena is determined though, so, with many misgivings, I step into the outrageous sandals. To my surprise, they offer no trouble. It's much like walking on the ridgepole of our barn back home, which I have done many times while repairing the roof.  
"Alright everyone, let's go! Don't want to be late!" Deena trills, and we all hustle to the elevator. "The rest should already be down there," Deena says. We enter the glass cubicle, and she pushes some buttons importantly, then fusses about being late all the way down. Terrence smiles and winks at me; we have plenty of time. Then the elevator stops, the door opens, and we step out into the huge room. The original Remake and Training Centers had been destroyed in the war five years ago, and when the Capitol rebuilt them, they built it as one massive building. The tribute's apartments are on the top eleven levels; below them is the Remake Center. On the ground floor is the huge room where the chariots are kept. On the lowest level, underground, is the Training Center.

As we enter the chariot chamber, we hear a fuss going on in the far side of the room. Deena and Terrence look grim: one of the District Ten horses is rearing, tossing it's head. Something had it spooked. Fury wells up inside me as I watch the stable hands try to control the beautiful animal. Pulling on the harness, whacking it repeatedly, they succeed only in scaring it further.  
Heads turn as I rush across the room, my incredible dress streaming behind me. I shove the stable hands aside, knocking a few to the floor in my haste. I reach up and take hold of the horses mane, stroking it's neck, whispering to it. "Come on, what's all this about? Calm down, my beauty, you'll get yourself worked into a lather to go out in front of the whole nation." The horse calms slightly, shuddering. "It's alright, nothing's going to hurt you now," I murmur. I can feel the panic ease out of the beautiful animal as I continue to stroke it's neck, murmuring to it softly.

Becoming aware of footsteps beating a rapid cadence on the concrete floor, I look up. Terrence, Regina, the boy's mentor, and Deena are hurrying towards me. Terrence is carrying my shoes, and I suddenly realize I'm barefoot. "Thanks," I mutter, as I take my sandals and put them on. I am aware of every person in the room staring at me. Ignoring them, I look to Regina. "In which chariot am I riding?" I inquire. She nods to the one we are standing beside. "This one. You'll be with Woody." I look around, noticing the other tributes for the first time. A few stand out in my mind: The tributes from One are tastefully, if a little revealingly, dressed in matching costumes. Very short, tan dresses, covered with fake gold and silver coins that chime when they move. The boys are wearing kilts, made of the same materials, and no shirts. My eyes widen slightly, and I look away. District Four are dressed as Merpeople. I sneer slightly; how silly. I look at our tributes, and can't help feeling a twinge of mean satisfaction: Abagail's stylist was an idiot. She's dressed as a cow, complete with rubber udder. One of the boys is dressed in the tawny golden color of a mountain cat. He actually looks rather dashing. Then my eye falls on Woody, and my mouth drops in horror. He's dressed as a bull, with long horns sticking off his head. There's an udder hanging off his costume, too. I close my eyes. Time to be difficult again.

I turn to Regina. "I'm not going out with him," I tell her firmly. "I'll walk first." She glares at me and huffs, acutely irritated.

"Fine. Jackson, get over here. You're going with Brandi instead of Abigail." The mountain cat boy comes over, looking relived. He smiles at me, and I look away coldly. Terrence comes over, and I accept his assistance into the chariot. "Remember, stand up straight. You can choose how you come across." He drops a quick kiss on my cheek. "I'll be cheering for you, swan-girl," he whispers. Then the entire front wall of the room rises up, and the chariots start to roll out into the damp evening air.

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**Gosh, my writing is still making me wince. _ I don't remember when exactly it starts improving, but I promise it does. XD I wrote all these chapters when I was about fifteen, so...yeah, it's not the best. lol **

**Any and all reviews would make me very happy. :)**


	5. Chapter 5: Training

I sit on my bed, waiting for my entourage to arrive. It's the first day of training, and I'm slightly jittery, though I don't know why. My restless hands find the remote that controls my window. Or viewscreen. Or whatever. I amuse myself for a while, zooming in on different parts of the city. I see a ludicrously painted woman get her heel caught in a drain grate. I watch a small boy climb a lamp post, while his parents yell at him to come down. I zoom in on a tea shop, watching a couple sitting at a table near the window. They are smiling at each other in a perfectly insipid manner; they lean in, their eyes closing... My own eyes widen, and I hastily zoom out.  
There is a knock at my door, and I rise, putting down the remote. Deena, Terrence, the mentors, my prep team, and the other tributes from my district enter. Terrence gives me my training outfit, and I go into the bathroom to change.

Deena, Abigail, Woody, Jackson, and I all enter the elevator. Deena attempts conversation, but is met with failure. Woody is staring vacantly into space; Abigail and I are glaring daggers at each other, and Jackson is watching us in amusement. When we reach our destination, I exit the cramped space with relief, looking around the large gymnasium. I am surprised to see Atala has survived the rebellion; but there she is, waiting to start the ritual. Deena gives us all a reassuring squeeze, and sends us over with an air of being relieved to get rid of us for a while.

Someone pins a square of cloth bearing the number 10 on the back of our shirts. Everyone gathers around Atala as she begins instructing us and listing the various training stations. I don't bother to listen, instead staring around at the other tributes. The Careers are, of course, great, hulking teenagers who look like they could split your head like a banana peel. One of the girls from One is startlingly pretty: Reddish gold hair, chocolate brown eyes, smooth skin. She's slimmer than the other Careers, she looks almost delicate. But I can tell by the way her eyes, fixed on Atala, are narrowed, and a slight half smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, that she is not to be trusted. Something about this beautiful specimen gives me the shivers.

I continue my examination of the other tributes, but once again, my attention is arrested, this time at one of the boys from Three. He has the face of a weasel, dark hair that is cut rather unevenly. He's quite tall, lean, but wiry and strong looking. What bothers me is that he is staring at me, and smiling in a most unpleasant manner. We hold each others gaze for the rest of the lecture. Atala finally releases us, and after a final menacing smirk, the boy from Three struts off to the spear throwing station.

I stand a moment, assessing the various stations. I can climb fairly well; I know how to make a good campfire; coming from a district with cattle, I know my ropes. I finally head off to the archery station, and my lesson commences. An hour later, the wall around the target is stuck with arrows, but I steadily improve, till I manage to hit the dummy in the heart every time. Thanking the assistant, I move on. I turn out to be very good at wielding a sword, and I manage to disarm the sword master shortly into the lesson. I wander over to the poisonous plant section, and spend a pointless half hour having someone tell me not to eat three leafed plants. Imagine that.

At lunch, I avoid the other tributes from Ten, instead sitting with a girl from six. She's about thirteen, very small and frail looking. Halfway through the hour, I regret choosing her as my lunch mate. There's something vicious about the tiny girl. As soon as I can, I make for the gymnasium again. The other tributes are reassembling and heading off to the stations again. I am halfway to an obstacle course when a voice behind me stops me.

"Is the little bird off to her flying lesson?" I turn, and see the creepy boy from Three. He smirks. "The name's Tcheetah, by the way," he says. I turn away and walk towards the obstacle course.

"Should I care?"

"Probably. You know, so you'll know who killed you when you get to the afterlife." He follows me, and I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. The hair on my neck stands up, but I don't look at him or alter my pace, determined not to let him know how uncomfortable he's making me.

I manage to inject a note of scorn in my voice. "Assuming I don't kill you first. Just a bit optimistic, aren't you?"

He doesn't reply, but suddenly his arms are around me, squeezing, like a snake. I was right, he is very strong. I can't seem to get free. He is slowly constricting the breath from my body. I look around desperately; nobody is aware of the little drama being played out in the corner. The tributes are occupied, and the inattentive attendants aren't noticing. I am beginning to get dizzy, when suddenly my captor makes an odd noise and releases me.

I bend over, gasping for breath. When I've recovered slightly, I look up, intending to kick his knee in. I stop, gasping a little. Tcheetah is dangling in the air, struggling to get free of the person holding him. It's one of the boys from Four. He is about six feet tall, well muscled and very, very powerful. He is holding Tcheetah in the air by the neck, as easily as he would hold a pineapple.

"Fighting before the arena is against the rules." His voice is slow and deep. He casually tosses the purpling Tcheetah aside and turns his attention to me. "Is Swan-girl alright?" I nod, feeling a small tremor of fear. Both these boys had proven that they were dangerous adversaries. Tcheetah was like a snake: strong, relentless, poisonous. The boy from Four looked like he could pulverize a coconut with a single blow from one of his powerful hands.  
I watch him return to the camouflage station and start painting a disguise on his arm. Turning away, I start on the obstacle course. As my body swings, rushes, jumps and vaults through the series of equipment, my mind is racing. Fear, determination, and adrenaline are all coursing through me. The Games are in just a few days, and then... then I will know what I'm up against.  
And I might not survive the experience.


	6. Chapter 6: Private Training

It is the morning of private training. I sit on my bed, staring unseeingly at the Capitol outside of my false window. The reality of the Games is beginning to really sink in. In just a couple of days, I will be entering the arena. But for now, I have to concentrate on what will impress a gang of bored Gamemakers.

That brings a question popping into my head. Do I want to impress them? If I get a low score, maybe the Careers and the rest of the tributes won't go hunting me down first thing. If I get a high score, I'll be seen as a threat. But I will also be more likely to get sponsors. I press my hands to my face, trying to think things out and reach a decision. Whatever I choose is bound to get me killed in the end.

Finally, I lift my head. I'll do my best to get a high score. I'm really far more frightened of what the Gamemakers will throw at me than I am of the other tributes. I stand up, glancing at the high-tec clock on the mahogany nightstand. Nine thirty. The rest of the District Ten crowd should be here soon. I change into my training clothes and sit on my bed, brushing my hair. Technically, this is unnecessary. I could just program the wall, or the door, or my shoe, or that wax tomato over there to do it for me. But it provides a way to steady my nerves, sets a rhythm to which I match my breathing, calming me.

I think back to the previous two days of training, trying to decide what to show the Gamemakers. I was all right with a bow, but really I had only learned to shoot as a long distance self defense. I was a born climber, so the obstacle courses were fun, but not exactly impressive. And what could be less awe inspiring than watching someone build a campfire?

I tilt my head, brushing my hair the other way, continuing my assessment of my capabilities. "Erecting a shelter" was ranked one step above "building a campfire" in terms of entertaining. I can throw a knife fairly well, but the Gamemakers are going to see a lot of knife slinging long before I get to them. I'm terrible with an axe, I almost decapitated the trainer yesterday. That leaves sword play. I twist my hair into a knot at the base of my head, stabbing some hair pins in to keep it in place. I'd have to show the Gamemakers my prowess at sword fighting, and hope they were interested.

There's a knock at my door. Time to head down to training.

Abigail, Woody, Jackson and I all enter the side room, followed by the District Eleven tributes. I glance around. Nobody seems to be sitting with their district partners, except the Careers. This is fine by me. I have no desire to stay with the others from Ten. I sit by myself off to one side, and no one pays me any attention. My feelings aren't hurt. I'm not paying them any attention, either. I pull a small book out of my pocket and start reading it. This was going to take a long time.

A few hours later, the only tributes left in the room are the ones from Eleven and me. I put my book away, and we all sit in silence, staring at each other. I actually notice them for the first time, and I am struck by how small they are. One of the boys looks to be the oldest, and he looks to be only fourteen. They all look somewhat lost, and one of the girls is plainly scared. I feel overwhelming pity. I want to comfort them, but how can I, when in a few days I'll be trying to finish them off? So we sit in silence, just waiting. Finally, my name is called, and it is with some relief that I enter the gymnasium.

As soon as I enter the large room, I know this is going to be difficult. The Gamemakers have had to watch thirty nine other tributes, and they are obviously at the end of their tether. A few are asleep. I suppress my irritation, and head for the sword rack. Halfway across the room, I see them.

Bullwhips.

Coiled and hanging on a silver rack. As if in a trance, I veer off towards them. I select one, testing its weight and balance. I give it a few cracks, just to get the feel. I glance at the Gamemakers, and suddenly I know what I'm going to do. I walk over to the swords and select one. A rapier, light and thin, but strong. I go to the center of the room and begin. Moving the sword slowly in a figure eight, I pick up speed, till the blade is a silver blur in the air. I change the direction abruptly, whirling the rapier above my head, listening to the whistle. Eyes half closed in concentration, I turn slowly to the dummies, still whirling the sword aloft. Suddenly, the whip in my hand shoots out, wrapping around one of the dummies necks. With a swift yank, I bring the doomed mannequin closer, and with a quick downward slash, slice the head clean off. The blade in my hand never ceasing its motion, I turn and advance on the Gamemakers. Again, the whip shoots out, yanking an apple from the hand of the shocked head Gamemaker. With a flick of the whip, the apple spins lazily into the air. My rapier flashes, and a dozen apple slices hit the ground with twelve soft plops. The blade in my hand hisses as it sends the apple slices spinning into the Gamemakers laps. I rotate my left wrist, and the whip coils up my arm. The sword slows to a stop. Breathing lightly, I turn and look at my examiners. They are all stock still, staring at me, their eyes wide.

I wait, trying to appear bland, until the head man clears his throat and says, "You may go, Miss Ilonwhich." I nod respectfully, return the weapons to their racks, and exit. I can hear the low murmur of their voices as I leave.

As I enter the suite on the tenth floor, I see everyone has assembled, including the stylists. Deena and the mentors are staring at me anxiously. I ignore them and march straight to the dinner table, already laid ready for the meal. Terrence looks at me inquiringly, but I just shake my head slightly. "I'm starved," I announce, so they all come over and settle down to eat. Deena attempts small talk all throughout the meal, but when we hit desert, the mentors can stand it no longer.

"So, how was it?" Regina asks. Abigail instantly starts pontificating about her training session. The long and short of it is, she expects to receive around a seven. Jackson is vague; he seems a bit preoccupied. Woody just shrugs, vacant as usual. The adults all look at me expectantly. I swallow.

"Hopefully I scraped a nine," is all I say. Abigail indulges in a snort; it is clear she thinks I'm mediocre.

After dinner, we all go to the living room. I'm bored all through the first tributes, but I pay attention any way, figuring I'd better know what I'm up against. The Careers all score in the 8-10 zone. Typical. I experience a twinge of fear when I see Tcheetah's score: Nine.

Finally, our scores flash. Jackson has managed a seven. Abigail received: five. She lets out a muffled shriek, and I snicker to myself. Silly girl. Woody next: Three. He just stares blankly. Of course, he always stares blankly, so I'm not sure he even noticed his score. I'm last.

My insides curl up in anticipation. Then my face in on the screen and my score below it: Twelve. Deena and Abigail shriek, for different reasons. Jackson slaps my back, and Woody manages a blink. Terrence is hugging me, and Regina and Deena are both trying to make a congratulatory speech, trying to talk over each other. I just sit, stunned, strongly aware of the emotions washing over me. Pride, elation…fear. I picture the other tributes: Tcheetah, gripping me in his arms, squeezing the breath from my body; the boy from Four, plucking a sixteen year old boy up in one hand as if he weighed nothing; the tiny girl from Six, throwing an axe, nailing a dummy right in the heart; one of the boys from Two snapping a spear like a twig. And then my twelve, flashing on the screen for all the nation to see. My throat constricts. I rise abruptly and go to my room, closing the door. I go and sit on the bed, feeling slightly numb. I impressed the Gamemakers alright.

I also made myself the main target.

* * *

**I'd forgotten half of what went on in the beginning of my story. This chapter, for instance. XD It seems like forever ago that I sat at the desk writing this thing. 0_0 **

**Big thank you to all my viewers - I got 22 views today! WHOO! So very excited! :D**


	7. Chapter 7: Interviews

I sit at a table, facing Regina across it. She is just staring at me, frowning slightly, and I can already tell this is going to be a waste of time. I shift somewhat impatiently, and she seems to get the hint, finally speaking. "I honestly have no idea what angle to give you. You seem the strong, silent type, but the image Terrence has given you doesn't exactly fit in the picture."

I raise my eyebrows. "Why don't we let Terrence choose my angle, then?" I ask.

"It's not his job!" Regina snaps, and my jaw tightens. "Alright, try to impress me, bird girl. Let's go with provocative first." I shake my head stubbornly.

"Not happening," I tell her.

"Come on, Brandi, I'm sure you're capable of it." she coaxes. Ten minutes into the private coaching, and I'm already desperate to run or scream.

"Sure, I could do it. But I'm not going to. It isn't modest." I cross my arms and wait for her next silly suggestion. She expels a lungful of air in an irritated huff.

"Then give me your interpretation of charming, and we'll see how bad it is." I grind my teeth. "That's not charming, Brandi." I allow my hands to clench for a minute, then I relax, schooling my features into a blank mask. For the next couple of minutes, I smile, duck my head, twitter, and bat my eyelashes slightly. In short, I waste five minutes of my increasingly shortening life being an utter idiot.

"Alright, alright!" Regina waves her hands, as if to dispel the silliness from the air. "You can't do charming." She mutters something, and I get the urge to knock her on the head. "Show me what you can do with humble." The next three minutes are more ridiculous than the last.

Two hours later, we are both hot, tired, and furious. The only angle Regina can come up with that seems to fit me is malicious - an angle I really don't want. We are both sitting stiff as rods in our seats, my useless mentor glaring at her notes, and me glaring at my useless mentor. "It's the only thing you can do right," she snarls at me. "Probably because it reflects your true nature." My mouth drops, then bangs shut.

"How dare you?!" We are both breathing hard, red in the face. I try to suppress the anger that boils in my blood. After a few calming breaths, we retreat from each others personal space, still far from pacified. Regina presses her hands to her head. "It's the only angle that I can come up with for you," she says with exaggerated patience.

"Well, I'll botch it too, cause that's not who I am." Regina jumps to her feet, and I rise as well. "Then you'll be without an angle, and that's not going to do you any favors!" I start to say something, but she rants over me. "You can't be humble, haughty, provocative, funny, gushy, and you butchered charming!" I throw a bowl at her and walk out.

I sit on my bed, thinking over my chances in the Games, and wondering what color Caesar will be this year. Someone knocks on my door, and comes in. It's Deena. I wonder why she's here for a moment, then I remember. I have to waste an hour or so with her.

I expect her to remark on my poor posture, but she doesn't She comes over and sits on the bed next to me. I don't say anything, and after a moment, she starts talking. To my surprise, her voice isn't it's usual high, twittery, affected tone - rather, it's somewhat low and serious.

"You know, Brandi, you're quite an intelligent young woman. I knew it the second you stepped on the stage back in District Ten. I told myself you had a chance of winning, and I'm certain you'll make it into the top five. Maybe even emerge alive." She reaches over and takes my hand. "Regina is doing all she can to make sure that happens. We both know she doesn't like you, and that makes her less than amiable. But she is trying." I suppress a snort.

"I'm trying, too. I'm trying to win these Games. I'm trying to distance myself from the others, so I don't get attached to someone who's going to die. I'm trying to make Terrence proud of me, because I know it's the only chance I'll get." My voice drops an octave, and I bend my head. "I'm trying to keep who I am," I whisper. Deena puts her arm around my shoulders.

"We always keep who we are, Brandi. No one can take that from us." I look up at her, and she tucks my hair behind my ear. "That doesn't mean we don't change. We do. We change all the time. But it's still who we are." I feel tears pricking my eyes, and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. Deena looks at me a minute, then wraps both her arms around me. We stay like that for a while, then she releases me and stands up. "Come along, Miss Ilonwich, we're on a tight schedule," she shrills, and commences an hour of training. This time, the hour turns out to be fairly productive, and by dinnertime, I feel reasonably well prepared for the interviews tonight.

Once again, I am in awe of what Terrence has done. My long, full dress swirls in shades of plum, emerald, and azure. A pair of feather earrings dangle from my ears. My prep team has rendered me speechless as well. My hair is piled on my head in an elegant style, with curls tumbling down my back. My eyelids bear the dark, shimmering green of my dress, outlined in azure. They have managed to put plum lipstick on me without it looking garish. Feathers, matching my earrings, only much smaller, are attached to the corners of my eyelashes, and every bit of bare skin is covered in a shimmering dust. As we approach the elevators, my wonderful stylist hands me a peacock feather fan. "I don't know how you do it," I tell him, hugging him carefully. Antilla, Aquavius, and Violus are are fluttering around me, showering me with compliments. "The credit belongs to Terrence and you three," I tell them, hugging them too. Deena straightens my dress, smiles, and then hustles us along.

The tradition has changed since the last Games. Instead of all sitting on the stage, the tributes wait backstage, sitting with their own district. Peacekeepers stand around against the walls, looking like empty suits of white armor. It's obvious the President doesn't want another show of unity.

I close my eyes, thinking back to the last Games: The third Quarter Quell. All the tributes, of varying ages, standing on the stage, hand in hand. The resultant year of chaos. The death of our parents. I clench my teeth and open my eyes. The Hunger Games were abominable, to put it mildly. But war was not the answer. Look where it got us.

I dismiss the unsettling thoughts from my head and examine the teenagers around me. Tcheetah and the boy from Four draw my eyes. Tcheetah is watching me, as usual. My skin prickles, and I look away. I search the crowd for the Career who came to my aid yesterday, and am surprised when I finally locate him. He is on the stage, talking to Caesar, who glitters in shades of gold this year. I listen to the interview, though apparently they are almost through.

"So, Tantore. Tell us. Who was the little boy for whom you volunteered?" Caesar is saying. "Is he your brother?"

"No," Tantore responds in his slow, deep voice. "I don't know who he is. But he is safe - for this years Games." The crowd sighs collectively. Caesar blinks a few times, and smiles at the boy. "Well, I'm sure we all think you're a hero, Tantore. Best of luck in the Games." The sound of the buzzer is drowned out by the roar from the crowd. As the eighteen year old comes back stage, he glances at me. There is a lump in my chest, and our eyes meet. We stare at one another for a moment, then he is escorted back to his seat. I tune out of the rest of the interviews, and allow my mind to puzzle over this Career.

Thirty five tributes and not quite two hours later, my name is called. I rise, my heart pounding, and walk out to face the entire nation. The noise from the crowd, already pounding in my ears, amps up when they see my ensemble. I take my seat as Caesar tries to quiet the crowd. Eventually, they settle down, and Caesar sits down next to me. "Welcome, Brandi."

I bob my head slightly. "Hello Caesar. You're looking well." I have no idea what to say, and am afraid of making an utter fool of myself. "I love the gold," I add, hoping to distract the audience from my idiocy. They obligingly respond with a laugh. Caesar smiles.

"Thank you. You're looking rather dazzling yourself." I smile as the audience screams in agreement. "Your stylist has quite the touch. You took my breath away at the presentation." We praise Terrence to the heavens for a bit, then Caesar turns the conversation to my training score. "Twelve! I couldn't believe it." The crowd makes it known that they couldn't believe it, either. "Give us a hint. What did you do?" My interviewer leans forward expectantly, but I just smile and shake my head slightly.

"I just...showed off a bit," I say evasively. Caesar prods, but I remain closed. "Are you trying to get me in trouble?" I ask. There is a concerted laugh as Caesar protests. Talk turns to my talents.

"Come, I know you have some special gift," he coaxes. I pause.

"Well... I can imitate bird calls." Caesar leads the round of begging. I scream like a peacock, make the choking sounds of a mute swan, twitter like a cardinal, and croon like a dove. All the impressions are well received by the crowd. The buzzer goes off, and we both stand up. "Brandi Ilonwich, the Bird Girl!" I fling back my head, and above the screams, cheers, and wild applause of the crowd, the screeching cry of a hunting eagle rips from my throat. As I sweep off the stage to tumultuous applause, my eyes lock with that of a young man in the raised platform where the influential persons sit. He is sitting next to the president, and I don't like the look in his eyes.

I don't like the look in his eyes at all.


	8. Chapter 8: Help and a Warning

I'm rising up through a dark tube, the sides pressing in on me, no end in sight. I concentrate every particle of my being on not screaming. I have a terror of small spaces that nothing can seem to cure, and I am close to passing out. Darkness. Closeness. No air.

Just when I think I can't take in any longer, I emerge into fresh air and sunlight. The Arena. This is it. Nothing matters but the next sixty seconds. I can't seem to focus on the arena or the Cornucopia. Instead, my eyes are drawn to the circle of tributes. To my immediate left stands Tantore. The sun is shining through his long, sandy hair, lighting it to gold. He's just staring at me. Nothing else.

On my right stand Tcheetah. He, too, is watching me. When our eyes meet, his lips pull back in a menacing leer. My blood runs cold, and I know I am going to die.

And then it happens.

I watch as something falls from his hand, hitting the ground in front of him. I see his face, still sneering, as he is blown into a thousand pieces. The explosion sets off a chain reaction, and each of the tributes, counter-clockwise around the circle, is blasted into oblivion. Some of them look blank; others wear expressions of contempt. I see who dies, every single one of them, just before they explode, and their faces are branded into my mind forever. I watch as the small girl from Six is blasted away. Tantore is next in line. I involuntarily reach out towards him as the fire blazes in front of him. I see his eyes, still locked in mine-

My eyes snap open. I am absolutely soaked in sweat, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. I stare around the dark room, half expecting something to blow up. I sit up, throwing back the covers, and attempt to regain control of my nerves. The faces of the tributes still blaze, clear as day, in my brain. It had all the clarity of one of my prophetic dreams. I press my hands to my head, trying to think clearly. What is going to happen tomorrow? I am not at all certain I want to know...

I am startled out of my reverie by a knock on my door. I raise my head, utterly caught off guard. "Come in?" I call, expecting Terrence or Deena. The door opens, and the young man I saw at the interviews enters. I watch him with open hostility as he approaches. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" I ask suspiciously. He sits down in the chair by my bed, and I instinctively edge away.

"My name is Camillus. I wanted to see you before the Games." I stare at him.

"Why?"

This simple question seems to discombobulate him extremely, and I frown faintly. "Well... You made an impression on me. I watched you at the reaping, and ever since." Great. Another stalker. "I wanted to talk to you." He is looking at me, somewhat hopefully. I hold his gaze.

"What about?" I inquire coolly. I recognize him now. He's the president's son. It hadn't really registered at the interviews, but I've seen him on the television before, looking calm, distant, disdainful. Right now, he's looking rather uncomfortable. He fidgets with his hands, twisting his finger this way and that. He shrugs. "Anything… I just want to talk to you."

I am struck by how incredibly pointless this young mans whole existence is. He doesn't seem overly burdened in the cranium section, he's not extraordinarily handsome, and he looks awkward and clumsy. As far as I know, he has absolutely nothing whatsoever to offer the world. Just another idiot the Capitol spawned.

I pretend to stifle a yawn. "Well, you've talked to me. It's two o' clock in the morning, and I've got to get up early and commit a mass murder." All at once, he seems to change. He leans forward and grabs my hand, and I barely suppress a yelp of surprise. "Listen Brandi, I'm not going to let you die. I'm not going to let that happen. I'm going to help you. I can't let- I can't let you get killed. I just can't." I had previously thought he was an idiot. Now I am convinced he is nothing short of insane. Possibly dangerous. I sigh quietly. Why do these things always happen to me?

Standing up, I remove my hand from his grasp. "It's going to be alright," I say kindly. "We'll go up to the roof, and make you up a bed. The fresh air will do you good, and you can sleep it off up there. By morning, you'll be perfectly fine again. No one will ever know - besides me, of course. And I won't tell." Camillus blinks at me, then shakes his head.

"I guess that came out wrong. But I'm serious, Brandi. You're coming out alive. I swear it." I stare at him a minute before I realize that he is, in fact, perfectly serious. I exhale, and sit down again.

"Why me?" I ask quietly. "What about the other forty three who have to die?" The president's son snorts.

"I don't give a hoot about them," he says contemptuously. Beneath the folds of my robe, my hands clench in anger. "They're not real to me. I watched every one of them during the interviews, and not one of them has your spirit, your vivacity, your charisma. They're plastic. And the ones from One, Two, and Four are plain barbaric." He jumps slightly as I spring to my feet.

"Barbaric? Barbaric? You sit here in front of me, say what you just said, and then call someone else _barbaric_?!" I lean over, my face so close to his I'm surprised it doesn't blister from the heat radiating from me. "Forty four teenagers thrown into an arena, forced to fight for their lives against each other, the elements, and whatever horrors your cronies decide to throw at them, and _they're_ barbaric?" I am trembling worse than I was half an hour ago, my hands clenched so tightly my nails are in danger of cracking. I force myself to retreat from Camillus' face, breathing hard. He looks very surprised, and very angry.

"Look, Brandi," he begins, but I interrupt.

"Don't call me by my first name!" I snarl.

"Fine! Miss Ilonwich!" We're both yelling so loudly I'm astonished that the entire building hasn't arrived to investigate. "There can only be one victor, if that! I didn't have to offer my help to anyone! I could have just sat back and watched every single one of you be tortured and killed! I had to choose one person, and it's you! I have my reasons, but at least I'm offering help!" He has a look of long suffering nobility shining through his anger. The urge to throttle him rises inside me. I grit my teeth, attempting to control my fury.

"And I have my reasons for refusing your 'help'. Pride, you might call it. Respect for human life. Duty to side with people, instead of painted up circus creatures." My arms are crossed so tightly they are beginning to cramp. "So if that's all you're here to say, you can go." Camillus looks about mad enough to hit me. I am vaguely aware of a wish that he would try.

"Listen, Bird Girl," he says, a threatening edge to his voice. "I can keep you alive if I want. I could have you snuffed out on a whim. You better not make an enemy of me." I'm not aware of moving towards him, I'm not aware of raising my arm, but the next thing I know, he is lying on the floor, a hand to his face, and my palm is stinging. Not pausing to think, I grab him by the front of his silk blouse, drag him across the room, and fling him out the door, slamming it in his shadowy face.

An hour later, I am still sitting on my bed, my mind roiling. I am not sure what to make of the president's son. Apparently my first assumption about him was wrong. I despise him, yes, of course I despise him. But all the same… He's right, he didn't have to offer anyone help. He was running a great risk coming to talk to me…

Then I remember Caesar and Tantore talking during Tantore's interview; "Who was that little boy for whom you volunteered? Was he your brother?"

"No. I don't know who he is. But he is safe for this years Games." Hatred for Camillus boils afresh in me. One of the 'barbarians' from Four sacrificed himself for a little boy he didn't even know. And Camillus thinks he's so noble for offering me help. I lie down, a weariness akin to lethargy overcoming me. I am just about to doze off when I am jerked back to consciousness.

Someone is knocking on my door.

I fling open the door, expecting to see the heir to Panem's government. Instead, I find myself staring at the cool, collected face of the president himself. A feeling of dread sweeps over me as we stand there, just looking at each other. His voice recalls me back to reality. "May I come in, Miss Ilonwich?"

I try to collect my scattered mental faculties. "It's your room," I say finally. I instantly regret this; concussing the president's son is one thing, sassing the president himself is quite another. He appears supremely unconcerned, however.

"Quite right. It is," he says serenely, and walks in. He sits down in the same chair his son occupied two hours ago. "Now, let us get right to the point. I'm sure you're anxious to get some sleep." I sit down on the bed, feeling distinctly uneasy. Somehow, I don't get the feeling he's here to offer his help in the Games. "Brandi Ilonwich, the Bird Girl." He says the words experimentally. I swallow hard and wait. "You know, your stylist hasn't done you any favors."

"I think he's amazing," I say, before I can stop myself. The president just looks at me.

"That's because you're a young girl. You're blinded by the silks and wings he has given you; you don't look past the feathers and the glitter. No one does. Except I." He is watching me closely. I return his gaze, puzzled, and angry on my beloved Terrence's behalf. "You have completely dazzled at every turn. Your training score. Your image. But I have a nation to think about. I cannot have bird girls flying around." I am still completely in the dark. He is still watching me, as if he can see my befuddlement. "Come, Miss Ilonwich," he whispers. "Put it together. You know what I mean." And suddenly it clicks. High training score. Birds. Bird calls and whistles.

I feel as though I have been encased in ice. "I'm not going to start anything," I say automatically. "All I want to do is get out alive. I promise." The president sits back, his eyes hooded. "That is certainly reassuring," he says. I detect a hint of sarcasm and skepticism behind his words. 'Very reassuring. For both of us." He leans towards me, his voice dropping slightly. "The Games don't have to have a winner, Miss Ilonwich. I decided that when I reinstated them. It is easier on all of us, is it not, for forty four to die, instead of forty four thousand? Winning is no longer a guaranteed option. It is a privilege that I can grant."

I shake my head. "My parents were killed in the war, sir," I say quietly. "I am one of four teenagers from my district reaped to die. I detest the Hunger Games, but as you say, thousands of people die in wars. My image as a bird has sprung from my stylist's determination to show me off. That is all. I have no intention of sparking another rebellion." The president stands up. I follow suit.

"I am certainly glad to hear that, Miss Ilonwich. But be assured, I shall be watching you very closely. Very closely indeed." He places something on my pillow, crosses the room, and exits, closing the door behind him. I stand for a minute, my heart pounding, mind racing. My legs feel like jelly, and I sit down, attempting to compose myself. After a minute, I switch on a lamp and pick up the object he left. I look at it for a split second, and then drop it, automatically wiping my fingers. It's a mockingjay pin, darkened with rust stains. I stare at it on the floor, until something about its appearance strikes me as not quite right. Approaching it cautiously, I kneel down to examine it. A soft hissing noise escapes me as I inhale. The metal is darkened with reddish brown stains.

But it's not rust.


	9. Chapter 9: The Bloodbath

The morning of the big day dawns bright and sunny. I have been sitting on the roof of the Training Center for the past two hours, watching the sun rise. I am strangely calm, feeling as if nothing matters, nothing but the colors splashed across the sky in careless perfection. Subconsciously, I'm acutely aware that it might be the last sunrise I ever witness, but for some reason, it doesn't bother me unduly. A breeze lifts the hair off my forehead as I watch the Capitol below me come to life. People begin trickling onto the streets, standing in clumps, gesticulating excitedly. I know they can be talking about only one thing: the Games. My insides knot, the all-too-brief spell of tranquility gone. I rise and return inside.

Breakfast is a solemn affair. Deena keeps sniffing and dabbing her eyes with a napkin. The mentors look grim, occasionally parting with quiet bits of last minute advice. I avoid Regina's gaze, feeling her eyes boring into the side of my head. I sneak quick glances at the other three tributes. Jackson is pale, but still manages to be social ans composed; I can't help admiring his courage. Woody looks the same as always, and I briefly wonder if he'll have enough sense to step off his platform when the time comes.

Then I look at Abigail, and my fingers clench in my lap. She is listening to Regina, nodding and smiling slightly. A wave of red hot hatred and fury washes over me as I realize she is actually anticipating what is to come. My stomach roils, and I clench my teeth, fighting to keep down what little breakfast I have consumed. My vision mists over as I picture myself snatching up a fork right here and now, and driving it into her neck before she has time to blink... A hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my nightmarish fantasy, and I experience a thrill of horror at my own thoughts. I focus with difficulty on what is actually happening. Terrence is guiding me out of the room, and the world becomes a haze, the edges of my vision contracting as panic overcomes my senses.

The grip on my arm tightens, and I realize I must have been falling. My stylist's voice comes echoing down a distant tunnel. "Brandi, are you alright? Sit down, before you hit the floor." I pull myself together, shaking my head to clear it. "I'm fine, Terrence," I say. "Really," I add quickly as he opens his mouth. He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't pursue it, leaving me to reflect on when I have ever been less fine.

The next couple of hours pass more quickly than usual, and before long, we are boarding the hovercraft. I am frozen to the ladder, my heart pounding as someone with a ridiculously long syringe approaches. I have no particular fear of needles, but I hate the feeling of helplessness, unable to move, not so much as a flicker of my eyelids, as the cold point plunges deep into my forearm. Then it is withdrawn, leaving a small dot of blood on my arm. Strangely, the seconds seem to stretch for eternity, and for one wild moment, I am afraid the current on the ladder won't release me. Then I feel motion return to my body, and I let go of the cold rungs. Terrence is lifted into the craft, and we silently enter a room where brunch is laid out.

We sit at the table, but I don't eat anything, barely able to breathe past the lump in my throat, much less swallow anything. Terrence doesn't say anything, but picks up a dark purple plum, polishing it on his linen napkin before handing it to me. I take it, staring at the smoky surface, thinking it is probably the last chance I'll ever have to taste my favorite fruit. I bite into it, the juice dribbling down my hand. The entire ride is spent like that, Terrence selecting my favorite fruits, me choking them down. All too soon, we are nearing the launch site. Terrence holds his hand out to me, and I take it automatically, fighting to stay calm as we are transported to my launch room.

I swing my arms in a circle, limbering up my shoulders as I wait for my stylist to unwrap my clothes. Despite the dire hour, I can't help but be interested when I see my outfit. A dark green garment that is either a very short dress or a long tunic, over tight black pants, belted with a woven brown belt. Leather moccasins with thick soles. A dark brown jacket that reaches to my hips. Terrence helps me into the clothes, then puts my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. "There. You look ready to me." He straightens the shoulders of my jacket, and I notice his hands shaking slightly. I catch them in mine, looking at him questioningly. He flashes a quick, tight smile.

"I think I'm as nervous as you are, Brandi," he says, then pulls me into a tight hug.

"Tell me honestly," I say in a low voice. "Do you think I can - survive?" Terrence strokes my hair a minute, then holds me at arms length, staring straight into my eyes.

"If you can get through the first bloodbath, you'll be fine," he tells me. "You're intelligent and resourceful, quick, and a good fighter. Just make it past the Cornucopia." He gives my hand a squeeze. "I've already started on your victory wardrobe," he says quietly, and I give a little choking laugh, remembering what I had said when I first met him. We sit quietly for a few minutes, and then a cool voice fills the room. "Sixty seconds to launch." Terrence and I stand up. I'm beginning to tremble uncontrollably. I am not prepared for this, nothing could have prepared me for this moment. I walk over to the platform, and Terrence helps me up. I wait, my heart pounding, staring at my stylist.

"Thirty seconds to launch."

Terrence reaches into his pocket, pulling something out. "Oh, you forgot your district token," he says, pressing the object into my hand.

"But I haven't got-" I begin, but he applies a quick flash of pressure, and I stop. "Thank you. Thank you for everything," I say.

"Ten seconds to launch."

My breath is coming in quick gasps now. "Tell Deena thank you! Tell my prep team I'll win for them!" Terrence is nodding as the glass tube descends over me. "I love you!" I yell, and he seems to hear me, for he touches the glass where my hand is resting for the briefest of moments. Then I am rising up through smothering darkness, and Terrence is lost to my sight.

It is just like in my dream. Going up through a dark tube. I concentrate on breathing, feeling dizzy. I squint at the object Terrence gave me. It is a round, smooth stone, with something engraved on one side. I run my fingers over it in the darkness, tracing the grooves. D-i-s-t-r-i-c-t T-h-r-e-e. I don't have time to puzzle it out; already my head it rising into sunlight. I squint, frantically trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness. Sixty seconds, already ticking by. As soon as my sight returns, I glance quickly at the arena, scoping it out. The golden Cornucopia and the ring of tributes are in the middle of a large prairie. A wide, silvery river is rushing along on the other side of the circle from me. Dark woods surround the flatlands on all but one side; that section is taken up with a cliff.

Forty seconds remain, and I look around the ring of tributes, searching for Tantore. I don't see him, but when I look to my right, there is Tcheetah, same as in my dream. He is looking right at me, and I know I will not be alive five minutes from now. I am more frightened of that one boy than I am of anything else I might face in the arena.

Panic rises up in me again. There is no way to escape him. I clench my hands - and feel the pressure of the rock I am holding. A light clicks on in my head. District Three.

I yank the elastic band out of my hair, ignoring the strands that part company with my scalp. I have one chance. I slip the stone into the hair band, pulling it back. Twenty seconds...fifteen...ten...five, four, three, two... I let the stone go. The sound of the gong is lost in a deafening explosion.

I propel myself off my platform in a giant leap, and hit the ground running. Adrenaline courses through me as I run, pelting along faster than I ever have before. The explosion was timed to disorient the rest of the tributes within range, and it seems to be effective. I am the first one to the Cornucopia. I snatch a knife off the top of a crate as I flash by, then run straight into the woven gold horn, dodging around boxes a crates, right to the very back. I thrust the knife between my teeth, feeling it hit the corner of my mouth. The coppery taste of blood runs onto my tongue, but I ignore it. I dash right to the tail of the structure, hit the wall, and scurry up it, as high as I can go. I turn around with difficulty, my heart pummeling against my ribs.

I am curved up in the tail of the Cornucopia, my fingers latched into the grooves, my teeth clenched around the blade of my knife. I listen to the sounds of the massacre outside, sweat running down my temples. I am more terrified than I have ever been in my life, and I cling to my precarious perch, cursing myself as every kind of fool. Ever since the reaping, I have been aloof, distancing myself from the others, ignoring the other tributes. In training, I sought to impress the Gamemakers, and dismissed the threat of the Careers. I didn't pay attention to any of them except Tcheetah, and I wasn't entirely sure I had killed him, and not someone else.

I am beginning to cramp, pain shooting through my fingers, legs, and back. I'm almost choking on my own blood, loathe to swallow it, but I am left with no choice. The bloodbath seems like it will never end; the air outside is filled with screams, shouts, the clash of steel, the twang of bowstrings, and the occasional foul oath. Just when I think I'm going to have to let go, the sounds of fighting slack off and eventually die. I hoist myself up slightly higher, bracing my wrists against the side of the horn. Cold metal bites into my skin, but the cramps in my fingers had gotten unbearable. I hold my breath as voices become clearer. The Careers enter the Cornucopia, talking loudly and laughing over the slaughter outside. I ease the knife out of my mouth, knocking it against my teeth. I freeze, and so do the Careers.

"What was that?" one of the girls says. Silence fills the air as we all hold still, listening. After a moment that lasts longer than forever, they go back to choosing supplies, and I let out a quiet breath. The Careers debate at length about who should stay and guard the supplies, and who should go on the hunt. A dispute breaks out; the boys from One are keen on having the girls from Two or Four stay to guard, an idea that is not enthusiastically hailed. There is quite a bit of arguing and weapons being drawn. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for them to go, go, go!

My attention is caught when I hear Tantore's name.

"What about that traitor, Tantore? We should find him and make him pay."

"But he only got a ten in training. That bird-girl got twelve. She's got to be wiped out." More arguing follows. I can't bear it any longer. I let go of the wall, landing as silently as possible, frantically scooting behind several barrels, hoping the others won't come to the back again. After ten eternal minutes, it is decided that they'll all go on the hunt, and chop up anyone they find looting the supplies when they return that night. They equip themselves for the chase, and several heart-stopping times, I am nearly discovered.

At long last, they depart, but I stay crouched behind my barrel, waiting. Then the cannons start. One...two...three...four...five...six... All the way up to seventeen. I am extremely surprised that so few went in the bloodbath. I do a quick calculation: twenty seven of us left. I swallow hard. That was still more than were originally demanded, when District Twelve was still in existence.

I force myself to move. The cannons and the sounds of the hovercraft mean all the living tributes are gone. I'm safe for the moment. I uncurl myself from the uncomfortable position, tears springing to my eyes as the blood rushes back into my limbs. I spend a few minutes working to get my circulation going properly, then I start going through the remaining supplies, selecting weapons, food, spare clothes and blankets. I reject a tent, deciding I'll never risk using one. Instead, I slash all the tents I can find to pieces. Might as well, not let anyone else use them.

I move quickly, knowing I could be discovered at any moment. I stuff spare clothes, a thick blanket, several water bottles, some first aid supplies, a thin, strong rope, and portable food into a compact, waterproof backpack. I select another knife and a light rapier as weapons.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the shelter of the Cornucopia.

* * *

**Just to clear up any confusion, yes, Brandi really loves Terrence. But she loves him the same way Katniss loved Cinna, and not as a love-interest sort of way. He's way too old for that, it would be gross. XD**


	10. Chapter 10: First Day in the Games

I cautiously step out of the Cornucopia, casting my eyes around the vicinity. Completely empty and quiet. Too quiet. There's no birdsong, or wind, or any other indication of life. I turn my eyes to the river; no sound issues from the rushing water. I begin to panic, have I lost my hearing altogether? I sense a presence behind me and whirl around. Tcheetah is standing there, blood drenching his face and torso. His teeth are bared in a maniacal and completely evil leer. My heart pounds painfully, though silently; so I hadn't killed him after all. I'm frozen in place, unable to move, unable to so much as blink as my enemy paces towards me. He has no weapon - one look at his fingernails is all I need to know how I'm going to die. Paralyzed in place, I can only watch as he comes on. I am determined not to go without a fight; summoning all my strength and willpower, I fling myself backwards. The whole world tilts, and I am falling...

I come awake gasping, sweating profusely. I need fresh air, I need to breathe, to feel the wind on my face. Struggling against my blanket, still in a state of half panic, I kick and squirm out of the thicket in which I had taken refuge, crawling into the open air and tilting my face up to the night sky, breathing deeply. A soft breeze plays across my skin, and I relax. Even in a place like the Arena, nature can calm me.

I open my eyes, looking around as my vision adjusts to the dark. Never before have I realized how noisy nighttime can be; never before have I loved the cacophony so much. Crickets chirping and singing, cicadas adding their buzzing to the insect orchestra. Wind rustles through the trees, sounding like water flowing over soft moss. My heart, thumping loudly, begins to slow, and my blood pressure slowly drops. It wasn't real. Tcheeta's face had appeared in the sky several hours earlier. He was gone. I was safe from him. Terrence's words come back to me, _"If you can get through the first bloodbath, you'll be 're intelligent and resourceful, quick, and a good fighter. Just make it past the Cornucopia."_ I had. I was here, now, on the first night, far from safe, but far from dead.

I roll my shoulders, reveling in the chill night air. Stretching out my arms, I employ all my senses, delighting in the feeling of being alive. My ears pick up the sound of not only the usual night noises, but of other sounds, faint and generally unnoticed: the noise of the river, rushing in the distance, wind sighing through the leaves, the particular crackly rustle belonging to the dead fauna on the forest floor. I am acutely aware of the feeling of the soft clothes on my body, and the softer wind playing across my face. Every nerve seems to thrum when the ends of some stray hairs touch my face. Taking a deep breath, I sort out the various scents of the forest: damp earth and loam, pine and cedar wood, wet pine needles, the nutty odor of oak bark blending with the pleasant scent of wood smoke.

Wood smoke? My eyes snap open in alarm. The sky is tinted orange and red...but not from the dawn. "Oh no oh no oh no," I whisper as panic and adrenaline come rushing back in a terrible flood. If there is one other thing besides small spaces of which I am incurably terrified, it's heat. Extreme heat, mixed with poisonous fumes, stinging smoke and blinding light, has me an utter wreck.

Scrambling desperately, I yank my supplies out of the thicket, tripping over my blanket as I frantically roll it up and stuff it in my pack. The wind has picked up, and I can almost feel the heat from the flames. Without pausing to think, an impossible feat in my current state, I run, tearing through the woods like a mindless, frightened animal. Time has ceased to exist, and I have no notion of how long the trees and brush have been flashing past, nor do I care. I have one coherent thought it my terror-crazed mind: "Get to the river!" Branches and twigs whip my face as I streak past, but I scarcely feel them - it is as if I have gone completely numb with fright. I am subconsciously aware of a question, "Am I still dreaming?" I have no idea if I still have my pack, if my feet are hitting the ground, if I am even still clothed. My senses, so keen and alert just a short time ago, seem to have died, but I am in no mood to stop and test them.

After the bloodbath, I had covered a considerable distance in a surprisingly short time, running till I had literally dropped from weariness. Now, I cover the same distance in an even shorter time, and my pace doesn't falter, my feet never flag. I have entered a dream-like state, unaware of my surroundings, unsure if I am actually moving, or if I even exist. The only things that are real to me is the terror coursing through my veins, burning, as if the inferno has already caught me; and the mental picture of the long, silver snake that will quench both fires.

At last I see it, twinkling in the moonlight. Cold relief rushes through me, and I start trembling uncontrollably, staggering slightly as I continue my breakneck pace straight into the river. The water is freezing cold, and an almost tangible shock goes through me. My breath freezes in my chest, and all my nerves, numbed and unreal before, scream in protest, coming awake from the suspended animation my fear had brought upon them.

I shoot right back out the water and stand on the bank, dripping wet, afraid to look down in case I see icicles forming on my skin. Gasping for breath, a familiar sensation by now, I collapse on the ground, my legs completely rubberized. I am shaking like the pudding I had in the Capitol, though less from cold than an absolute nervous breakdown. I keep a keen eye on the glowing woods, forcing myself to think as my senses slowly turn back on and my thoughts become more distinct. I begin to hear and see better, and I can definitely feel things touching me. I am extremely relieved to find I still have my pack of supplies, and even more so to discover that I am, indeed, still clothed. My panic slowly subsides, and I am able to think more clearly. The drama of the night has left me a quaking, shivering jelly, absolutely useless, and I desperately hope that no other tributes are near the fire. They would come for the river, and find me lying on the bank, unable to lift a finger to defend myself. Urged on by this unpleasant thought, I clench my muscles, forcing my limbs to stop their quivering, and rise up on my knees. By alternately tensing and relaxing, I am able to regain control of myself, and finally I am able to stand up and move about.

The smell of smoke assails my nostrils again, my eyes begin to water and sting, and without hesitation I plunge into the river. Prepared for the icy shock this time, I manage to breathe better as I forge across to the opposite bank. I look around carefully, feeling uneasy; the Cornucopia was gleaming only a hundred yards away. Doubtless the Careers were encamped within, unless they were still out hunting. Reaching into my pack, I extract my dark blanket and pull it around myself, trying to blend into the darkness. Hunkering down, I scuttle along the bank, heading upriver. The wind is blowing in the opposite direction, and I have no wish to travel the same way as the fire.

Muffled voices and slight splashing behind me warn me of the presence of others not far away. Acutely aware that it could be the Careers, or the mad, axe-wielding girl from Six, I go faster, trying to leave no tracks. I briefly consider wading through the river, but the current is too strong, and the cold water would make it hard to move.

Pale grey shows through the reddish glow in the eastern sky, providing me with more incentive to hurry. I have zero desire to be caught in the open when dawn comes. Flinging caution to the wind, I put on a burst of speed, figuring on losing any pursuers in the murky woods. Bursting into the cool dampness under the trees, I slow down slightly, concentrating on leaving no tracks from here on in. Rolling up my blanket, I stuff it in my pack again and loosen my rapier in it's sheath. Hunger is beginning to make it's presence known, but I am still far too close to danger to pause for food.

At a noise behind me, I stop and prick up my ears, listening as hard as I can. Yes, those are definitely voices; loud, arrogant, vicious voices, and they're coming my way. There is nowhere to hide that I won't be found. I am left with one option: keep running. Accordingly, I take off, bitter thoughts racing through my head. At this rate, even if I get out the Games, my legs will have to be completely replaced. A vague suggestion occurs to me, to stand and fight, but I dismiss it. There's far to many of them, and I have no whip. Skilled with swords and knives I may be, but I feel almost helpless without a whip in my hand. So I am forced to keep running, even though it feels like my feet may snap off at the ankles by now.

Too caught up in trying to remain unseen and unheard, as well as leave no trail, I don't notice where I am going, and smack straight into a tree. Reeling, trying to stay upright, my foot catches on a root, and I trip, flinging out my hands to catch myself...but there is nothing on which to catch. Suddenly my dream has become reality, and I am falling, falling into blackness.

It is surprisingly warm. I am quite sure I'm not dreaming again; never have I felt this warm in a dream. I attempt to move, but I feel heavy and lethargic, and I only accomplish a twitch of my finger. I try to think clearly, forcing my ears and nose to work. Listen. Hear. Hear. Work, ears, work. Come on nose, kick in. Smell. What do I smell?

Slowly, I am able to discern my surroundings. I hear water running. Not the river, softer and more quiet than the river. A queer crackling noise draws my attention, and I sniff the air tentatively. Smoke. Again. I'm too close to the fire, and by the sound of the water, I'm by a tiny little brook, too small to afford any protection. I try get my leaden limbs to obey me, try to spring to my feet, but all I can do is shift my legs slightly. A voice by my ear brings a surge of panic.

"You awake, Bird-girl?" The slow, deep voice is somehow reassuring, though I can't quite place it. I open my eyes, blinking them into focus. Long, sandy blond hair. Brown eyes. Strong jaw. I know him. The boy from Four. Tantore.

"Lie still. You're hurt." Tantore dips a cloth in the brook and lays it across my forehead, which I realize is pounding.

"What happened? How did I get here?" My voice is dry, almost croaky. I clear my throat, and realize I'm terribly thirsty. Tantore seems to know this; he gently lifts my head, holding a canteen to my lips. It occurs to me that it might be poisoned, but he could have easily killed me while I was unconscious, and my throat is so dry I feel that it might almost be worth dying, just to get some water, so I gulp it gratefully, feeling extremely soothed as I slake my thirst. I think I can drain the whole canteen, but Tantore eases me back down. "Not too much, you'll be sick."

Feeling slightly more alive, I look around. We appear to be under the bank of a small stream. There is a fire crackling merrily in the center of a ring of stones, which explains the smell of smoke and dispels my previous alarm. "How did I get here?" I ask again, my voice somewhat stronger.

"You fell down the ravine," Tantore responds slowly. "I was camped at the bottom, and you came rolling down, straight into me. You looked like you'd been running, and I figured you were being followed, so I came down here and brought you with me."

I look at him suspiciously. On one hand, he had saved me from Tcheetah during training; he had volunteered for a little boy whom he didn't even know; he hadn't thrown his lot in with the rest of the Careers, and he had brought me here to safety when I otherwise would certainly have ended up dead. On the other hand, he is in the same Games that I am, he's from District Four, he's way too big and powerful to be defeated, and I'm pretty sure he was stalking me in the Capitol.

He has some explaining to do.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" I deliberately make it sound like he has no chance of killing me now that I'm awake, instead of acknowledging the fact that I'm weak as a kitten with a splitting headache. Tantore looks surprised.

"Why would I kill you?" he asks, his deep voice sounding both puzzled and faintly amused.

If he's puzzled, that's nothing to what I am.

"Why wouldn't you? Only one person can come out alive, if that." I recall the president's warning to me the night before the Games started, and I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Tantore stokes the fire, staring into the flickering flames, not responding. I watch him, waiting. Finally, he speaks. "When I watched your district's reaping and saw you go onto the stage, I knew you had to win. You were so brave and proud and distant, with a hint of spirit hidden beneath it all." He lifts his eyes, staring at me across the fire. "Your stylist made you a bird. That is wrong. You are a frozen flame. One has but to melt the ice to unlock your fire." Picking up the canteen, he flicks it out, casting the remaining water over the flames, which sputter and die. "Too easily is fire quenched. You will not be quenched. I will not allow it."

I am completely stunned. I try to speak, but there is nothing to say, and I can't talk past the lump in my throat anyway. How can this young man be so discerning? How can he see so much that I cannot, and put it into words? How - why - does he care so much about me, a perfect stranger and an adversary , that he would sacrifice himself to ensure my victory? My mind flits back to Camillus and his midnight visit. He seemed determined to keep me alive too. Was it for the same reason that Tantore is trying to save me? The same reason Tcheetah was so bent on killing me? Because I am a frozen flame? Have I really burned my way through to that many people?

I close my eyes, thinking back. Rose loves me, of course she does. She's my sister. Move on. My prep team. I gave them a hard time, but they loved me before I loved them. Terrence. It's impossible not to love him, but why? Because he obviously loves me. Even Deena cares about me somewhat. I think back to her holding me, offering words of comfort after my disastrous coaching session with Regina. Regina. There's one person who hasn't melted from my fire. I wonder vaguely if she secretly, or not-so-secretly, wishes someone would quench me. That's understandable. I never thought that I was a very lovable person - why do so many people, so many strangers, care about me like this? What have I done to deserve such treatment?

I must be frowning, because Tantore reaches out a hand and smooths my forehead. "Sleep, Bird-girl," he says quietly. "You've had a rough night. Rest now. I'll keep watch." Somehow I know I can trust him. Somehow I know he won't hurt me. Somehow I know he's my guardian angel.

Closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep.

* * *

**Is it pathetic that I have a whopping great crush on my own character? XD Tantore is everything I want in a guy, and he's not even real. Now that's depressing. XD**


	11. Chapter 11: Allies

The first thing I become aware of is my tongue. It feels about two sizes too big, and it's uncomfortably dry. My throat feels swollen and scratchy, and the sunlight shining onto my closed eyes is making my head hurt. I try to call out for help, but all that comes out is a dry cough. Immediately, a shadow falls over my face, and I open my eyes.

"Morning, Bird-girl." It's Tantore. "You thirsty?" I try to respond, but can do no more than nod my aching head. He moves away, and I groan as the sun strikes my face again. The Gamemakers must be doing something to make the light brighter than normal; never have I known sunlight to be so blinding, not even at high noon in midsummer.

My savior returns with the canteen and helps me drink. My mouth and throat lose their awful dryness, and the dull pounding in my head subsides a bit. "How long have I been out?" I ask huskily.

"A day and a half" Tantore replies in his slow way. " I take another sip of water, looking around. We're still by the stream, concealed under the over-hanging embankment.

"How many have died?" I inquire, feeling sufficiently recovered to be nervous. I still feel sick whenever I think of all the lives lost, but even sicker when I think of what might be in store for me and the "traitor" from District Four.

"Twenty in all," the traitor in question says. I stare at him. In roughly two to three days, only three tributes have died.

"The audience isn't going to like this," I predict gloomily. "There's either tributes close to each other, or the Gamemakers are going to be throwing something at someone soon." Tantore is no fool; he knows what I mean.

"It could be us," he says. "Are you well enough to move, Bird-girl?" Traveling is one of the last things in the world that I want to do right now, but I have no other more pleasant choices. The Arena isn't exactly a vacation resort.

"Yes," I respond, trying not to let my discomfort show through in my voice. We are relatively well hidden here, but we could easily be cornered by mutts, and there's not much we could do if discovered by other tributes. We're safer on the move. I groan inadvertently at the thought, and Tantore looks at me sharply. Without a word, he shoulders both our packs and help me to my feet, wrapping a supportive arm around my waist. "I'm fine, I can walk," I protest. He ignores me.

"We'll go to the cliffs," he says, his deep voice somehow comforting. "I have rope; we can climb down, where we won't be easily discovered." I am about to agree when I spot a flaw in that plan, then another. And another.

"No," I say, "it's too risky. What if the Gamemakers send a sudden rainstorm before we reach the bottom? We'd drown in a waterfall that we couldn't avoid, and I'll bet there's gullies and low ground down there that would fill up like a river. Not to mention we couldn't get back to the Cornucopia very quickly or easily, and there's no telling what the country at the bottom of those cliffs are like." Tantore raises a quizzical eyebrow. "Animals," I persist. "Natural or otherwise. And maybe no water or food." My new ally puts his hand up.

"Alright, Bird-girl, you win," he says. In spite of our dire situation, there is a hint of laughter behind his voice that almost makes me smile. Almost. "Where do you suggest we go?" he inquires. I think a moment before replying.

"Deeper into the woods. It's dangerous, but offers more than anything else." Tantore nods.

"The woods it is."

The sun is beginning to set when Tantore finally finds shelter that he will accept. A giant tree has fallen over, and there is a bowl where the roots had been, with a little tunnel going off one side. I am not thrilled about going underground - in fact, I'm scared silly - but Tantore won't let me stay out in the open.

"But this is like your under-bank hideaway," I argue, desperate to find fault with his choice of campsite, "only worse. That was just an overhang; now we'll be underground, unable to escape anything." My companion doesn't reply, just unslings the packs and tosses them down into the depression in the ground. I fold my arms, my adrenaline picking up again. "I am not an earthworm or a mole, and I am not jumping into a hole and crawling into a tiny little burrow," I say flatly.

"Come on Bird-girl, don't be difficult." Tantore is tired, more, perhaps, than I am. He's been carrying all the supplies all day, and sometimes half carrying me. He hasn't complained, and now his slow voice doesn't change. But it is pretty obvious that he's close to losing patience. I swallow hard, remembering how easily he plucked Tcheetah off of me during training, tossing him aside like an old sock. I am certain that I don't want to make this powerful young man mad at me; but neither do I wish to go underground. I look at the small black hole in the side of the ground and swallow again.

"Tantore," I say, a note of pleading in my voice, "I am terrified of small spaces. I need to be out in the open, where there's room to move and breathe, where I won't have to worry about being trapped. I can't go in there, I just can't." I feel close to tears. _Just what I need, _I think savagely, _to cry in front of the whole nation. _

My ally has softened; he doesn't understand my fear of small spaces, but he accepts it. "I go in first," he says, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Then if something happens, you can get out quickly." I still don't like the idea, but Tantore has already lowered himself into the shallow crater and is crawling into the small tunnel. I have no desire to be caught on my own just now, and besides, a stubborn giant is curling up between me and my pack. He blinks up at me owlishly, and I growl under my breath.

"Mule-headed creature," I whisper to myself grumpily, jumping down into the root-scooped depression. "He's worse than Juney." I take a deep breath of the cool evening air before steeling myself and crawling into the burrow.  
It's not as bad as I had expected, only a few feet from the opening and freedom. It's quite warm, though; two people stuffed together in a small space, and the breeze can't get in at us down in the crater. Apparently Tantore is thinking along the same lines.

"At least we don't have to wrestle the blankets out the pack," he mumbles sleepily.

"Mm," I agree. I'm rather tired myself, but I am determined to stay awake. "We should still keep watch," I whisper. A soft snuffling is my only answer, and I poke Tantore in the shoulder. "Don't you think we should keep watch?" I whisper more loudly.

"Whatever you say, Bird-girl." His words are slurred with weariness, and barely discernible. With a quiet sigh of resignation, I settle into a half way comfortable sitting-slouching-curled position and peer out into the growing darkness, listening with all my might. It is getting darker by the minute, and I can only guess that the Gamemakers are causing it. The temperature is also dropping, and I begin to feel glad for our closed-in den.

A small tendril of wind finds it's way into our burrow, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter about me. It is getting colder by the minute, and my teeth begin to chatter. After an inner struggle, I finally crawl farther backwards and squeeze in between Tantore and the dirt wall. Feeling warmer already, I strain my ears to pick up any noise outside, but sound is deadened in our small tunnel.

Warmth and weariness finally do their work, and try as I might to stay awake, I drift off into a slumber.

The booming crash of a cannon echoes through the Arena, and Tantore and I both wake up at the same instant. We try to sit up, but we're squished together too tightly. "What's happening?" I ask, not fully awake.

"Someone's dead," Tantore replies quietly. Another cannon follows the first, and I push myself to the front of our burrow, peering out.

"That's our cue. Let's go," I say, and turn back to gather up the packs. Stopping, I stare at Tantore. He is settling back down, closing his eyes. "What are you doing?" I hiss. "Come on, we need to move!"

"Why? The audience should be content with those two deaths," he points out reasonably. "And who knows what's happening to the others. Our turn will come, Bird-girl, but not yet, I think." I glare at him, irritated at how logical and right he is. "Sleep more," he says, yawning. "You need it." He curls up and dozes off again.  
I lie back down, but sleep is far from me now. I can't help thinking of the two tributes who just met their end. How did it happen? Were they fighting each other? I close my eyes, a tear slipping down my cheek as I think of two more families, sitting numbly in their houses, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that their children were dead, gone, never coming back...

I can't hold it back anymore; a sob bursts out of me. In an instant, I'm enveloped in two strong arms as Tantore wakes up and pulls me close. I think for a moment that he's hugging me. Then his hand clamps over my mouth tightly, muffling any other sound I might make. I squirm, but he only tightens his grip on me. He seems to be listening, and his brown eyes are staring intently out into the dark night. Then his voice whispers in my ear:

"We go now, Bird-girl. Quickly and quietly." I don't know what he's heard, or how he's heard it, but I am more than willing to go along with him. I crawl out of the hole, turning to help him with the packs. "Go north," Tantore whispers, and I obediently follow him, loosening some of the knives inside my jacket.

Suddenly, I am struck by an awful thought. I have let myself become dependent on another tribute; I am no longer self-reliant. I blithely follow this young man all around the Arena, with never a thought of striking out on my own, trying to win the Games. If I am to return home to Rose and the farm, Tantore will have to die. And I realize that not only have I become dependent on him, but I have also come to like him. I almost regard him as a friend.

Busy cursing myself as every kind of fool, I don't notice that Tantore has stopped till I walk straight into him. Peering around him, my blood runs cold, and my heart rises to my throat.

Blocking our way are the rest of the Careers, weapons out. I make a quick headcount. Eleven against two.

The odds are not in our favor.

* * *

**I'm cackling with glee over my character's predicament - isn't that wicked of me? XD**

**Any reviews are still appreciated. :) Although I seem to have lost all my viewers at chapter 5. XD**


	12. Chapter 12: Slippery Encounter

I swallow hard, my eyes darting from one savage face to another. There seems little chance that Tantore and I will make it out of this alive, but I slowly draw out a knife from my jacket anyway. If I'm going to die, I'll sell my life dearly. Perhaps my companion can get away and have a chance at winning.  
"Bird-girl, run," Tantore says softly. He, too, has drawn his weapon, and is surveying our opponents. "Now."  
"No." I narrow my eyes, looking for an advantage. There is none.  
"Bird-girl, run. Get away from here now. Get to the river."  
"No."  
The eleven Careers are spreading out, circling around behind us, cutting off all escape. The girls look as dangerous and cruel as the boys, and the array of torture devices they're brandishing at us is doing nothing to raise my morale and hope of survival. One of the boys from One, obviously the ringleader, leers at us.  
"What's this critter you've got hanging onto you, Tanty boy?" he says tauntingly. "It looks like a plucked chicken. Oh, of course," he adds, "it _is _a plucked chicken. The Chicken Girl." He grins nastily as all the other laugh uproariously.  
Lackeys.  
I tighten my grip on my knives as he comes forward, just out of arm's reach. "Your precious stylist isn't here to save your skin now, girly," he sneers, wicked delight evident in every syllable. "Or doom it, as the case may be. If it weren't for him, we might never have noticed you." He grins, and I notice with distaste that his teeth are rather more pointed than should be allowed. "Idiot. Or did he _want_ you to get killed? Seems that way to me." I think of the stone that Terrence smuggled for me, and the words he carved out on it so I'd know what it was for. Hot anger rises up in me. I set my boot in District One's stomach and shove him with all my might, sending him stumbling backwards into his companions. Beside me, Tantore's deep chuckle rings out scornfully, further infuriating our adversary. He snarls at us, straightening his jacket. "Fine. You asked for it!"  
Tantore slides around, putting his back against mine as the Careers move in for the attack. For a moment, it looks like we're done for. I raise my weapons, whispering a prayer that it will be quick, that they won't capture Tantore alive, that Laterose will be alright without me. Our attackers close in, and I prepare for the end.  
And then, without warning, they stop. All eleven of them freeze and peer around fearfully. I pause, thoroughly bewildered, and look around to see what's preventing them from slaughtering us. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first, but then a noise reaches my ears. It sounds like flowing water - lots of it. We're too far from the river to be hearing it, especially when it wasn't audible a few minutes before. Some ominous feeling tells me I should recognize the noise, but I can't quite place it.  
Until the hissing starts.  
It sounds like a dozen teakettles boiling over, and the stark terror on the faces of those around me assure me of what it is. There is a mad scramble as all the Careers start to dash away, banging off of each other and stumbling over tree roots in their haste. One of the girls from Two staggers into me, sobbing with horror, and I unthinkingly set her back on her feet before she falls. Tantore has been knocked away from me in the stampede, and I turn to look for him, desperately hoping he hasn't been killed.  
A cool, lithe body, fearfully strong, whips around me from behind and constricts, pinning my arms to my sides and holding me helpless. I know better than to struggle, but my instincts take over, and I strain against the coils around me. The muscles of the snake tighten, cutting off my air, and I feel as though my arms are going to fuse to my sides.  
"Hang on, Bird-girl!" My heart leaps - Tantore is alive! I hear the whistle of a blade slicing the air, then the mad hissing of an enraged snake. The coils around me slacken a bit, and I yank my arms free, holding them above my head. Alerted by the movement, the serpent bunches up again, and I'm sure my ribcage is going to be crushed. Behind me, Tantore yells, and I'm yanked off balance as the snake jerks away from him, all the while constricting it's coils tighter and tighter. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and I force myself to remain conscious. Reaching behind me, I pull a thin, almost dainty, skinning knife from it's hiding place in my braid. As the serpent's head slides around within reach, I make a hasty guess and lash out, sticking the blade into it's neck.  
Luck is with me, stronger than it's ever been. The snake is instantly paralyzed, and I go limp with relief. "Quick... knock it... out!" I call to Tantore, gasping for breath. "Can't...get loose...till I take...the knife...out." I hear the dull thunk as he deals the creature a sharp rap with the hilt of his hunting knife, and I pull my blade from the serpent's nervous system. The coils around me go slack, and I push them off, sucking in lungfuls of wonderful air before turning to look at the downed beast. Tantore is making his way over to me, but I take no notice, staring in shocked fascination at the monstrous reptile laid out before me. At least fifteen, perhaps twenty feet in length, it's as thick as an anaconda, but the markings are different.  
"Come, Bird-girl, we go now." Tantore has come up behind me, but I ignore him, walking around the snake and picking up it's head.  
"No. Way," I whisper in awe, running my hands down it's smooth neck. My ally follows me, sighing in irritation.  
"We should really be moving..."  
"Tantore?" My voice cuts him off, and he pauses. "Tantore, do you know what this is?" Momentarily forgetting just where I am, excitement is coursing through me, ringing in my voice. Tantore glances at the unconscious reptile, dislike etched on his face.  
"Big. Deadly. Should be avoided by humans. Including us. _Specifically _us. We should go now." I pay no attention to his grumbles and look up at him with glowing eyes, my voice a whisper.  
"It's a scaleless ball python." I look back down at the limp snake, running a finger down the slick skin. "I had no idea they could be this huge!" In spite of himself, Tantore draws closer, peering down at it distrustfully.  
"It's creepy. No scales? Unnatural." I shake my head.  
"It's a genetic mutation; exceedingly rare, but perfectly natural." I raise my head and gaze at the length of the creature. "It's how long it is that's unnatural. They usually reach only about six feet, maximum. This one has to be close to twenty." I grit my teeth. "She must have been hatched in the Capitol's clutches."  
"She?"  
I turn her over and point to the anal spurs protruding by her vent. "Look; they're too short and blunt to be a male. She's definitely a girl. " I beam.  
Tantore looks as if he couldn't care less.  
"We really need to be going," he says, his deep voice stern. "That...snake...will be waking up at any moment, and there might be other tributes nearby." I don't respond, still studying the giant reptile before me. Lifting her blunt snout, I silently survey the inside of her mouth, still covered in bright red blood.  
My eyes widen and I look up at Tantore, noticing for the first time the crimson stain soaking his right side. "She bit you?" He looks down at his shirt.  
"More like snagged me. It's not that bad." He starts to staunch it with his jacket, but I stop him.  
"Don't. Let it bleed; it'll help get out the bacteria." I stand up, remembering where we are, and becoming painfully aware of my own injuries. My ribs ache abominably, and it hurts to draw deep breaths, but I turn my attention to Tantore, who is beginning to look unsteady. I lift aside his jacket and shirt, wincing at the sight of the ragged twin gashes running along his side. "You're lucky, it's not fatally deep. I see what you meant by she snagged you." I stand back, wiping my hands off on the grass. "Fortunately, ball pythons aren't venomous, not even this one bred by the Gamemakers. I saw her fangs, they weren't hollow." I look back at the smooth-skinned serpent, struck by her beauty anew. I set my jaw, making up my mind.  
"I'm bringing her with me." Tantore stares at me, clearly thinking I'm out of my head.  
"No, Bird-girl, you're not."  
I thrust my chin out defiantly. "Yes I am. You just try to stop me."  
"I don't have to." He points to the twenty-foot python. "You cannot possibly carry that thing around the Arena, especially once it's awake. We have nothing to feed it, and you'd be endangering yourself; you could never let your guard down around it. It would leave a trail easily followed, by both humans and animals. And Careers." I don't miss the fact that he ranks the Careers as neither animal nor human, but I can't bring myself to crack a smile. I know he's perfectly right, that it's ridiculous to even think of taking her with us. I look down at the beautiful reptile again.  
"Ball pythons aren't usually that aggressive. They did something to her," I whisper, distressed. Tantore comes up behind me and gently squeezes my shoulder.  
"She'll be fine," he says, his slow voice reassuring. "If the Careers can't even stand up to her when they're all together, nobody else possibly could." I raise my eyes to him.  
"You stood against her on your own," I point out quietly. Tantore shrugs, his gaze steady.  
"I told you once, Bird-girl, I will not let your flame be quenched. By anyone or anything." He goes over and picks up our packs from where he'd dropped them. I watch him, desperately fighting tears. Tantore had been willing to sacrifice himself to keep me safe, and after I was freed, I was too busy admiring the creature that wounded him to take any notice of him, even to thank him And now, he shows no signs of anger, or even irritation.  
Feeling worthless, I go and claim my pack from him, cleaning my skinning knife on a clump of green grass and tucking it back in my braid. "Thank you...for saving me. Again." Tantore looks at me, and a faint smile touches his lips.  
"Let's find a hideout," he says, and holding each other steady, we begin picking our way through the woods. I can't help one last backwards glance at the lovely python stretched out on the ground before turning away and forcing my mind back to our number one priority.  
Survival.

* * *

**As you can probably tell, this chapter is a little, ah, out of the ordinary, you might say. XD Needless to point out, I was rather interested in ball pythons - also known as royal pythons or **_**Python regius -  
**_**when I wrote this. Don't worry, that's the last of the scientific chapters. XD  
**


	13. Chapter 13: Tragedy

I slowly open my eyes, squinting against the blinding sun. It is frightfully hot; my throat is as dry as a piece of sandpaper, and my tongue feels like it's made of leather. Almost instantly, I get a sharp headache behind my eyes, and I stifle a groan. I hate heat. Anything above seventy five degrees Fahrenheit is too hot for me, above eighty oppressively so, and above ninety is nigh deathly. Right now it feels like ninety eight, and I know if this keeps up, I'm very likely going to get sick.

I sit up, throwing back my blanket and stripping off my jacket. Tantore is gone, but I don't worry too much, knowing he hasn't gone far. "Maybe he went to find water," I say to myself, starting to repack our supplies. "I hope he has, or we're both going to be in bad shape."

A canteen lands on the ground beside me with a dull thump. "He has," says a deep voice behind me, sounding cheerful. "Nice and clean, too." I can't help the cracked smile that spreads over my face at the sound of his voice. We've been in the arena for about a month or so, and while the other tributes we've encountered have been grim, desperate, terrified, savage, and generally changed for the worse, Tantore has started treating the bloody Games like it's a big holiday. This both amuses and worries me; if he gets any more bright and sunny, he's going to get us killed. Although, to be fair, it's been he who has kept us alive this far.

I blush a little at the thought and pounce on the canteen. "Last night, it was so cold our breath was steaming," I remark between gulps of water, "and now this. The Gamemakers must have gotten some of their gadgets in working order." During the war, the Capitol had been pretty well wrecked, and most of the technology was destroyed. All of the Gamemakers computers and widgets and gewgaws and whatnot had been completely obliterated; as a result, they hadn't been able to throw much at us since the snake three weeks ago, instead depending on the sheer number of tributes for entertainment. Apparently some techno-savvy psychopath has managed to rig something to control the temperature, and they're making the most of it.

"You're probably right," says Tantore, kicking loam over the evidence of our fire. "Want to go swimming?" I scowl, wincing as my head gives a particularly nasty throb.

"No! I mean, yes I would, but Tantore, you need to start taking our position seriously! Remember where we are? The Hunger Games? At the mercy of a bunch of blood-thirsty freaks who can kill us at a second's notice? We're fighting for out lives, not on vacation! Honestly, get your head out the clouds!" Immediately, I feel somewhat guilty for my tirade, knowing that it was uncalled for and unnecessary, and it's all because I'm so blamed hot...!

My companion grins at me, totally unabashed. "I am taking this seriously, Bird-girl. Swimming would cool you off and help with headaches, dehydration, flaking skin, short temper, and all the other heat-induced ailments that can be a problem." He stands up, shouldering his pack, and holds his hand out to me. "Come, I'll show you the stream and pool." I give in and take his hand, following him deeper into the woods.

* * *

I stretch out on the grass by the pool of water, feeling deliciously refreshed. We have spent the last two hours drinking, paddling around, fighting off hilariously small and ferocious aquatic mutts, and generally enjoying ourselves more than we have since the Reaping.

I stare up at the canopy of trees above me, trying not to doze off. Tantore flops down beside me, blowing water drops off his nose. "Some fun, eh?"

"Mm," I agree drowsily. Tantore's deep chuckle sounds out beside me, and I make another effort to make an intelligent reply. "The Gamemakers are probably appalled that we're this comfy. You watch, they're going to throw something truly awful at us and spoil it."

My ally props up on his elbow and amuses himself for a few minutes by dripping water on my face. "Hopefully they'll want to make a liar out of you and spare us the misery for a while," he says.

"Hopefully." I jerk as a drop of water slides down my forehead into my eye. "Will you stop that?!"

Tantore laughs, sliding back into the clear pool, and I allow myself a small smile. The arena has changed him, possibly more than any other tribute in the history of the Games. When I first met him, he was very much the strong, silent type. He rarely smiled, never laughed, and spoke as little as possible. Silent efficiency was his way, with more than a little stubborn steel hidden under his outer shell. Now, the steel is still here, but on the outside, he's positively flippant, and his moods are infecting me as well. I feel as though I've smiled more in the past month than I ever did in District Ten.

I'm jerked out of my reverie by a cold deluge cascading over my head. Spluttering, I shake water out my eyes, sitting up. "Tantore!" I glare up at the young man, who is staring down at me solemnly.

"It's getting hotter, I had to cool you down," he says soberly. "You're skin was starting to crack and peel off." Thoroughly alarmed, I look down at my arms. They're as smooth as ever.

I put on my best death glare and direct it at the buffoon still standing over me. "I'll crack your skin," I say threateningly, starting to rise. "I'll crack every bone in your body!" A chase ensues, concluding with both of us in the pool, bitterly regretting our over-exertion in the Hellish heat.

"Too bad those barbarians at the Capitol got their torture technology up and running," I remark gloomily, and Tantore nods in agreement. I climb out the water and gather up a couple of my knives. "I'm going to go look for something to eat, we're running a little short on food. No, you stay here," I say, cutting off his protests, "and guard our stuff. I'll be back in a bit." I stick the knives in my belt, pick up a full canteen, and start off.

* * *

It's a few degrees cooler here in the woods than on the open plain, but the air is stiflingly close. I try to take shallow breaths, doing my best to ignore the sweat running down my back. I allow myself a brief fantasy of equipping myself with a straight razor and locking myself alone in a room with some unarmed Gamemakers. They'd regret ever sending this heat wave on us...

The sharp snapping of a twig brings me back to reality, and I swiftly dodge behind a tree, pricking up my ears. It takes me a minute to realize that I was the one who made the noise. _Idiot,_ I think. _You're darn lucky nobody was around to hear that. You're getting careless, and it's going to get you killed. _Feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, I start off again, keeping my eyes peeled for enemies and food alike.

After about twenty minutes of hunting around, I come across a bush that is covered in berry-adorned brambles. I pick one and look at it suspiciously. It appears to be an innocent blackberry, but you can never tell with these things. Pulling it in half, I peer closely at the purple juice, sniff it, then hesitantly put it in my mouth and swallow. I wait a minute, but since I don't keel over, get beset by stabbing pains, turn purple, or anything else that isn't useful, I decide they really must be blackberries, and start stripping the vines of the fruit.

Once I've rid the bush of all the blackberries, I poke around unsuccessfully for something else edible, then start back to the pool. The berries will keep us from starvation, and really, it's too hot to eat anything else. Tantore will be getting worried, too, even though there's been no cannon fire today.

Right on cue, a dull boom echoes around the arena, and I break into a rapid lope. Tantore will be frantic now, and I desperately hope he hasn't done something stupid, like run off to look for me.

A few minutes later, I burst into the clearing, and am relieved to see our packs still scattered around the pool. At least he hadn't gone off in search of me. Then I turn towards the water, and my heart misses a beat. My ally is floating face down on the water. I stand still, rooted in horror, before I see his foot twitch.

"Oh, very clever," I snap, acutely irritated. "You know, that's not particularly funny, right after the cannon." He doesn't respond, just bobs around peacefully. Feeling uneasy, I pluck a berry out of my bag and throw onto his back. "I found food," I say loudly, hoping that will rouse him. No luck.

My throat starts to close up; suppose that cannon had actually been for...? No, it couldn't be. For all his new sunniness, Tantore was no fool, and he could still fight better than just about anyone in the Games. He had kept us both alive for nearly five weeks; he couldn't just up and die out of the blue right now. But nobody could hold their breath this long, unless they didn't need to breathe at all.

Overcome with terror, I splash into the water and pull him out, rolling him onto his back. "Come on, Tantore, the joke is over. Wake up now, " I mutter fervently. I chafe his wrists, determined to revive him. It's been at least five minutes since the cannon went; if he was really dead, the hovercraft would have come for him before now. "Wake up, I said!"

"He won't wake." I jump, whirling; so occupied with Tantore, I hadn't even noticed the boy come up behind me till he spoke. I feel a twinge of fear. It's the brute from District One, and he is smiling in a way that I do not like at all.

"Then...Then that cannon...it _was_ for him?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"Yep," One responds matter-of-factly. "It's a shame, really. He could have won, if it hadn't been for his little... accident." It's his turn to jump as I let out a piercing scream and crumple down beside Tantore's body, my world crashing down around me. Somehow I never thought that he would die, never thought that he _could _die. He had sworn to get me safely out of the Games, but I had subconsciously assumed that we'd find a way to both get out, or I'd be the one to die. He was strong, intelligent, a survivor - and yet here I was, kneeling on the ground beside his lifeless form, my fingers knotted in his sandy hair as I desperately try to bring him back with the force of my will.

"No," I whisper, feeling utterly lost. "Please no. I can't stand this. Why all this death? Why?" I twist around, seeking out a camera, wanting a response. "Why are you doing this to us? What good does it do you?"

"It doesn't do them any good," One answers. "Except supply them with a source of entertainment." He is still standing there, watching me. I untangle my hands from my fallen comrade's hair and slowly get to my feet.

"Please, just go away," I say dully. "I'm tired of all this death, and I don't want to have to be the one to kill you." The boy snickers nastily.

"That works out well, then, cause it so happens I don't want you to kill me either, and I have no problem at all sending you off to join your boyfriend. If you don't fight like he did, it'll be nice and quick, and the pain won't last more than a few seconds."

I back up a step, keeping my eyes on his hands. "Why can't you go away and leave me alone? I'm sure the Gamemakers will take me out eventually, and- Wait." What he just said registers with me. "_You killed him?_"

"Of course I did!" My enemy looks affronted. "Did you honestly think he just hit his head and drowned on his own? He's from District Four, you ninny, he wouldn't do something like that! I had to take him by surprise, though. It wasn't easy to get him into the water, I can tell you, but once he was under, he didn't stand a chance, though he did thrash quite a bit. He was strong, that one."

I barely hear him. There is a roaring in my ears, and the world is slowly turning red before my eyes. I can only stare at him as he continues to gloat.

"Now, enough idle chitchat. Since you're kind enough to not want to kill me, I'll let you choose the method of your death. Would you like to drown, too? That way you and Fish Boy can have something to talk about in the afterlife. Or would you prefer to be pushed out a tree, since you're supposed to be a bird? Or, I know! How about-" There is a flash of silver, a whirring sound, and he abruptly stops talking. He coughs once, looking puzzled, before his knees buckle and he falls to the ground. I walk over, face stony, and pull my knife out his throat, callously wiping it on his jacket.

"Change of plans," I say, my voice hard and cold as a frozen lake. I gather up our - no, my - packs, strip the boy from One of his food and water, and shoulder it all. I go over to Tantore's body and kneel down, my heart a leaden lump in my throat, and bend down, pressing my lips to his cold, clammy forehead, before rising and walking off into the woods without looking back.

That night, alone in my camp on the open plain, I watch through a mist of tears as Tantore's face appears briefly in the sky before vanishing forever.

* * *

**I have to admit, this chapter made me cry. :S I know, I know, I'm pathetic. I cry over my own story. XD But I really liked Tantore. :S **

**And in case anyone is wondering, yes, he was named after Tarzan's elephant. XD My best friend usually comments about that whenever she reads a chapter with Tantore in it - although that shouldn't be happening anymore, considering the events recorded in the above chapter. XD**

**Review? Please?**


	14. Chapter 14: The Ending

The crashing boom of a cannon echoes around the arena, jerking me out of my uneasy slumber. "Tantore?" I hiss, hoping he's beside me and not out getting killed. I am met with silence, and I slump back against the tree, remembering where my companion is now. Of course it wasn't for him. His cannon had sounded a week ago; he had disappeared from the world forever.

I bury my face in my hands to stifle the sobs I feel welling up inside. Some small, unemotional voice in the back of my mind wonders how I've managed to survive another week without Tantore, but I ignore it. It doesn't matter now if I survive the Games or not; I never expected to anyway.

_Of course it matters! _the little voice in my head snaps. _What about Laterose? What about Juney, and the farm - what about your home? I don't think Terrence, Antilla, Aquavius and Violus would want to see you die, either! Besides, you've gotten this far, what's the point of giving up now? Really, what's the point? Huh? _I forcibly shut out the nagging little voice, knowing it to be right.

"Fine," I say under my breath. "I'll try to win. Just shut up and stop pestering." It occurs to me that I might be going a little mad, but somehow this fact doesn't bother me. I would often sing or talk to myself back on the farm in District Ten, and now that Tantore is gone, I'll probably fall back into the habit. Good. Maybe that creep Camillus will lose his bizarre interest in me if he thinks I've gone insane.

I rub my eyes sleepily and give a jaw-popping yawn. Grey is starting to streak the sky in the east, and I know I'd better get moving before too much longer. Whoever that cannon was for could be close - and more to the point, whatever or whoever killed them could be close, and getting closer. I loosen the knives inside my jacket and prepare for trouble, then reconsider my position.

"Food," I remark to myself. "No good trying to fight when I'm completely hollow." I open one of the packs and dig out some dried fruit, settling down on my tree branch for a leisurely breakfast. Let whatever is out there come. I'm well hidden in a thickly branched tree, I've got weapons, and I'd see or hear someone coming up the tree before they saw or heard me.

Nibbling a hard, sweet chunk of pineapple, I turn my thoughts to events in the Games. After over a month in the arena, most of the tributes are dead. I close my eyes, fighting down a wave of nausea, and start taking a mental tally of those left. One of the boys and both girls from One. Both boys from Two. No one from Three. A girl and a boy from Four. My heart gives a sick throb - it's the wrong boy from Four.

_Focus, _the little voice in my head says, and I pull my thoughts from my fallen comrade and back to my list of adversaries. There's nobody left from Five, and only one girl from Six. My stomach twists as I remember the girl during training, the one with whom I'd had lunch. The savage girl. She couldn't be much older than twelve or thirteen, but she'd made it this far, and I doubted it was from sparing her enemies. "I don't want to meet her in the woods one dark night," I mutter. Maybe the Gamemakers would take her out. Or maybe she'd win. That seemed likely, now that I thought about it. If she could handle the Careers, she'd probably be sitting in the Capitol before too much longer, wearing the victor's crown...

_FOCUS!_ The little voice sounds acutely irritated, and I drag my mind back to important matters. There was no one left from Seven, and only one boy from Eight. Nobody from Nine. One girl from Eleven. I turn my thoughts to my own District, struggling to remember who my fellow tributes are and if any of their faces have flashed in the sky. Yes, one of them. Jackson. A dull feeling settles over me; I remember how handsome he was at the chariot ride, how polite he was during our stay at the Capitol. Now he was gone too.

I push the feeling of gloom away and try to recall the other two tributes from home. "Abigail and...Woody." My eyes snap open. Woody? "He's not dead yet?" I whisper incredulously. Somehow I'd assumed that he was taken out in the first bloodbath, but apparently not. Unsure what to think of that, I finish my meager breakfast and pack up. Out of the forty-four tribute who'd entered the arena, only thirteen were left. No, twelve; somebody just died this morning. Things would be heating up soon.

A soft chime catches my attention, and I watch in astonishment as a silver parachute drifts down through the air, catching on a branch in front of me. It's the first one I have received, and I'd almost forgotten that I might have mentors. At least one.

I unhook it from the branch and look inside, gasping as I reverently lift the bullwhip out of the basket and run it through my fingers. It is perfectly woven, clearly manufactured by a machine in the Capitol. The handle is made of a good, solid wood instead of steel, making it easier to hold. Nine feet of deadly leather perfection. My eyes gleam as I coil it up and hang on my shoulder.

Then a thought strikes me, and I frown. Who could know that this is my best weapon? Who would know to send me a bullwhip? Only the Gamemakers knew what transpired during my private training session - surely they wouldn't...? I look in the basket again and fish out the note. It bears only two words: _Get ready. _I stare at it; it's not Regina's handwriting, but Terrence's. A dozen questions pop into my head, but I push them away. I have more important things to think about. Terrence's message is quite clear: The showdown is coming.

* * *

The midday sun beats down on my head, the heat almost tangible. Panting, I trudge on a few more steps before giving up and collapsing on the ground. I have been traveling all day, hoping to reach the Cornucopia before the Gamemakers start throwing things at us to herd us all together, and my feet feel like they're going to burst into flame. I heave my packs off and stretch out on my stomach, sticking my head in the river to cool down. I wonder briefly how the psychopaths controlling our fates are going to drive us to the same place. Hopefully it will be something with which I can contend. Mutts, maybe, or a flood. As long as it's not a volcanic eruption that results in a wild chase pursued by a river of lava.

I sit up, shaking water out my eyes, and survey the plain around me. It's empty of any life; nothing is between me and the golden horn that stands about a mile to my right, shining brightly in the noonday sun.  
I open my packs and sort through my supplies. If anything should burst out of the woods at me, I don't wish to be encumbered with unnecessary weight. Putting a few essentials into the smaller pack, I slash the rest to pieces and dump it in the river, tossing my sword in after it. It's a risky gamble I'm taking, but if I can reach the Cornucopia alive, I intend to base there till the last day of the Games. And if I don't, then I won't need this stuff anyway.  
Slinging my small knapsack on my shoulders, I start out towards my destination.

* * *

I stand at the edge of the circle of platforms, staring at the giant horn gleaming twenty yards away. A flicker of uneasiness passes over me - suppose there's someone in there already, waiting for me to come within shooting range? Suppose they've reactivated the land mines, like happened in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games? Suppose... A flicker of movement at the mouth of the Cornucopia catches my eye, and I stiffen, ready to fall flat at a half second's notice.

A squirrel scampers out from behind the crates of supplies and runs off across the plains and into the woods. Some of the tenseness leaves my shoulders; at least the ground isn't mined.

I slowly draw a knife out of my jacket and uncoil my whip, staring hard at the interior of the Cornucopia. Nothing moves, but I'm not taking any chances in going in just yet. I hunker towards the ground slightly, ready to drop out target range if necessary.

"Hello?" I call cautiously. I receive no reply, but am not convinced. "I'm out here! Come and get me!" I pause, listening, but hear nothing but the river flowing behind me. "Anybody home, or are you out hunting helpless children?" Still no answer. "You're all cowardly yaks." Silence.

I start to creep forward when a dull thudding distracts me. I look towards the woods and see some of the trees shaking. "Not good," I mutter tersely. I slide a knife between my teeth and tighten my hold my whip. The ground vibrates beneath my feet, and I decide enough is enough. Adrenaline is beginning to build, and I break into a run, seeking the shelter of the golden horn. Behind me, I hear Abigail scream. Even as the little voice in my mind hollers at me to ignore her and keep running, I turn my head and glance back. My breath freezes in my throat, and I stagger slightly as my knees weaken. Every last one of the remaining tributes is racing towards me, weapons drawn, wild looks on their faces. But that's not the cause of my fear.

Behind the oncoming teenagers are the mutts.

Ten feet tall at the shoulder and twice as wide as the cattle back home, they look like a herd of buffalo straight out of a nightmare. Three-foot long horns curve out on either side of the broad heads, coming to wickedly sharp points. The hooves are large as saucers, their legs thick, muscular, powerful, and instead of hair, the terrible creatures are covered in purple scales. The long, sharp teeth of a carnivorous beast flash in the sun as they open their maws and bellow.

My mind goes blank as my survival instincts kick in. I keep my eyes on the mouth of the Cornucopia as I sprint towards it, leaping over piles of supplies. I dash inside, straight to the back, and scurry up the curving tail as high as I can go. Twisting my head around, I cut the straps of my knapsack and let it fall to the ground so I can climb higher. Already my over-heated muscles are screaming in protest at their clenched positions, and I concentrate on hanging on, doing my level best to shut out the screams and bellows echoing outside. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to envision the horrible deaths being died. _Please, please, please let it end!_ I think as a boy's guttural cry of terror scrapes across my ears. Tears start flowing as the screams outside become less frequent, lost to the triumphant roaring of the mutts.

After what feels like hours, every last human voice is silent, and the beasts start sniffing around the Cornucopia, growling low in their throats. They can smell me, no doubt, but the giant creatures can't get to me while I'm so far back in the horn.  
Then the cannons start. One...two...three...four...all the way up to eleven. All but mine. The realization hits me: I've won the Games. I'm the last one alive. Through the woven metal walls, I catch a glimpse of the hovercrafts coming to retrieve what's left of the dead tributes from among the prowling mutts. But no trumpets blare, no announcer announces the end of the Games. Worse, the giant demon-buffalo-things aren't called back to where they came from. I'm still trapped like a racoon up a tree.

Then the president's words come back to me. _"The Games don't have to have a winner, Miss Ilonwich. I decided that when I reinstated them. It is easier on all of us, is it not, for forty four to die, instead of forty four thousand? Winning is no longer a guaranteed option. It is a privilege that I can grant...be assured, I shall be watching you very closely. Very closely indeed." _

I involuntarily release my hold on the walls, falling to the floor with a thump. I hadn't won the Games - not yet. I might not even be allowed to win. Maybe...just maybe. If I could overcome the mutts outside, perhaps I would be permitted to live. Maybe.

I attempt to get the trembling in my limbs under control and sit up, my fingers closing around the smooth wooden handle of my bullwhip. "Oh Terrence," I whisper. "Thank you." Somehow he knew what would be coming, and he had given me the only chance of survival against them.

I gather together all the knives I can find and stick them through my braided bun, the back of my jacket over my shoulders, and through my belt. I close my eyes momentarily and breath deeply, keenly aware of all my senses, of my heart pounding, of the blood rushing through my veins. Then I grit my teeth and plunge towards the opening of the Cornucopia and my certain death.

As soon as I appear at the mouth of the horn, the mutts take up their fearful bellowing and charge. I take aim at the closest one and throw the knife I'm holding, snatching another out my braid faster than a blink. Having killed plenty of cattle back home, I know the most vulnerable spots for a quick death, and fervently hope these Capitol-bred creatures won't be much different.

Luck is on my side. One by one, the giant beasts stagger and keel over, my blades sticking out of them. Apparently the scales aren't hard enough to serve as armor. I am able to hold them off like this for a time, half sheltered among the blood-stained piles of supplies. But there's simply too many of them, and they start dodging my knives; clearly they are intelligent beasts.

The fear in me escalates, and I know I'm running out of time. The mutts are closing in, tossing their wicked horns, red saliva dripping from between their bared teeth. I know that this is it. It's time to get it over with.

I steel myself for a second, then snatch a scimitar from off the ground beside me and fling myself into the open, whirling my bullwhip. One of the mutts roars in surprise and pain as the braided leather slashes across it's nose. I dispatch one on my left with a thrust of my curved sword while driving back two others with the whip. My fear gradually dwindles as I battle the giant abominations; this is what I have been doing all my life. The bullwhip is like an extension of my arm, responding to every flick of my wrist and jerk of my arm, hissing and cracking as I battle these monstrosities.

Something slams against me, and my knees buckle. One of the mutts bears down on me; I flick the whip out, wrapping it around the creature's legs and jerking. My attempt to pull it off balance does absolutely nothing, but the restraint on it's legs is enough. It falls over, and I plunge my scimitar into it's chest.

A searing pain runs across my lower back as one of the monsters grazes me with it's horn. "That's not very polite," I tell it through clenched teeth. A quick motion from my whip ends it's life forever.

My arm is growing tired, and I know that I can't keep this up much longer. I cast a quick glance around me, counting. There are seven of these things left. My heart leaps - I have a chance! New strength rushes into me, and I leap forwards, whirling my weapons. One of the mutts scores another blow along my left thigh. I clench my teeth in pain and thrust my sword into it's eye. Letting go of the hilt, I take down another one with my bullwhip, leaping aside in time to let two other charging me crash, slaying each other with their own slashing teeth. Two more fall to my whip, but the third is too close to crack it again. I pull my last knife from my hair and thrust into it's throat as it careens into me. With a last horrible gurgling bellow, the creature falls over, dead.

It's over.

I stand amidst the carnage, panting, fiery pain racing across my back and leg as I wait for whatever else the president orders thrown at me. But nothing comes.  
There is a crackling sound above me, and then a human voice announces something I never thought I would hear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the seventy-sixth Hunger Games, Brandi Ilonwich! I give you...the girl of District Ten!" The trumpets begin to blast their fanfare as the hovercraft appears. I suck in a deep breath and fling back my head.

Over the celebratory tumult, the screeching cry of a hunting eagle rips triumphantly from my throat.

* * *

**Aaaand finally you get to know the reason for the title of this story. XD It used to be just The Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, but then I searched that here on , and do you KNOW how many stories with that title popped up? O_O So I figured I'd have to come up with something else if I ever wanted this thing to be found. xD Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it, and hopefully the last chapter will be coming soon. :)**


	15. Chapter 15:Interview & Unexpected Offer

"Do you like it?" Terrence watches me as I turn slowly before the long mirror in my room, staring at the ensemble I am wearing. A strapless white gown with a smooth-fitting bodice and flaring skirt that just touches the floor makes up the first layer. Then there is a dark, golden-brown layer over it, though not quite covering the white skirt, and a much shorter blue tunic with a split bodice over the top. The blue and gold layers aren't smooth like the white dress; they look like they've been made out of giant leaves.

Or feathers.

"I love it," I tell him, giving him a hug. He holds me tightly for a moment, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my face to his shoulder and fighting back tears. I never thought I'd feel his strong arms around me again, never thought I'd wear another one of his beautiful designs, never thought I would still be alive today...

Terrence lets go of me and adjusts my necklace - a simple blue choker with a gold pendant. "Come on, Miss Bluebird, we'd best get finished here before Deena happens in and flays me for rumpling your dress." I give a watery chuckle at the thought, it seems so very likely to happen. My stylist slips some long blue gloves up over my arms, smoothing the 'wings' hanging from them, and I frown slightly.

"Terrence?" I say hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Why did you make me a bird?" I meet his steady brown gaze, trying to hide the fear in my own eyes. He raises an eyebrow, quizzical, but not really put out.

"Because that's what I saw when I looked at you. A bird, soaring high above the rest of the world, not paying much attention to what's going on below you. I wanted to make you something different from the typical farm animals of your district. Something special. Something free." I half smile.

"Bluebirds don't soar," I point out. Terrence chuckles, but I see a hint of worry creep into his eyes. He takes my hand and sits down on the bed with me, looking at me intently.

"You remember the end of the seventy-fourth Games? How Katniss Everdeen's stylist made her so powerful and glamorous for the presentation and interview, but made her look like a little girl at the end?" I nod, my throat closing slightly in apprehension. "Well, that's what I'm trying to do here. People may rally around a mockingjay, but few are going to be inspired by a bluebird."

"You wouldn't think people would be inspired by a candle flame, either, which is what Katniss looked like at the end viewing," I say hollowly. Terrence grips my hand tightly.

"True, but her stylist turned her into the mockingjay. I'm not going to do that to you, Brandi. I don't know if you want to start a rebellion or not, but I'm going to tell you right now, it's not a good idea, and-"

"No!" I give my head a sharp shake. "I have no intention of doing any such thing! I never did, and I never will!" I pause, remembering the visit from the president the night before the Games. "That's why I wondered about my theme," I add, my voice softer. "A bird seems like a dangerous thing just now." Terrence looks at me, his face full of regret and guilty apology.

"I know. And I feel terrible for risking your life like this, but I thought, when I started, that it would be safer. It wasn't till a few weeks ago..." He stops, and I glance at him curiously.

"What happened?"  
He hesitates a moment, then continues. "A young man sought me out, bearing a wild tale of how you were in deadly danger and he had to save you. It was a bit garbled and didn't make much sense at the time. I thought he was...well, you know, I thought he'd been a little too...zealous... in his celebrations or something." My lips twist in a mixture of amusement and irritation.

"Camillus," I guess, my tone making it a resigned statement rather than a question. My stylist nods.

"Yes, that was his name. He's-"

"A jerk? An idiot? A perfect example of a Capitol clown whose entire existence is completely pointless?" Terrence chortles.

"I was going to say the president's son," he says, his eyes crinkling with laughter. I look down at my gloved fingers, trying to hide a smile.

"Oh. He's that too, I guess. What did he say, other than I was a damsel in distress and he needed to sally to my rescue?" I look up at my stylist as he continues his narrative.

"Well, as I said, I didn't take him very seriously. I knew perfectly well that you were in peril, and I knew there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it. As it turned out, however, he wasn't referring to the perpetual danger of the Games." Again, he pauses before plunging back into speech. "The long and short of it is, the president is not happy with the image I gave you, and...Tantore saying you were like a flame didn't help matters in the slightest." My gut clenches at the mention of my former ally, but I push aside my grief and consider the predicament before me_. _Two people that I'd bet a million dollars loved me put me in a dreadful position that might or might not spark another devastating war. _Oh, the irony, _I think with a twinge of grim amusement.

Terrence is looking at me closely.

"I'm so sorry, Brandi." I look at him, instantly picking up on the unhappiness in his voice. "I never meant to do this to you. I had another motive when I made you a bird. It was a warning." I stare at him. "A warning to the president. He's as afraid of another rebellion as you are, and believe me, he's walking on eggshells too. One wrong move from him, and the Districts could erupt. They were severely crippled the last time, but the Capitol actually got it worse. When it comes down to it, they depend on you more than you depend on them, and the president knows it. I wanted to point that out, in my own way, and keep him alert. I thought...well, I thought you'd be safer that way. If he killed you, he'd give the country a martyr, and that's the most dangerous thing for him to do." He sighs. "But I made the mistake of underestimating him. I forgot how easy it would be to make your death look like an accident, which his son was quick to point out." He sighs again. "I'm so very sorry. I never intended to put you in worse danger." I give him a smile and a quick hug.

"I know that, Terrence," I tell him. "I know you'd never do anything like that on purpose. And I love the clothes you make. The risk of wearing them just adds to the excitement." I lift my chin defiantly. "Besides, it won't hurt for the president to worry a bit, and see what it feels like. Let him stew." My companion's lips twitch slightly.

"You know there's cameras in here, right?" he says gravely. I go very still for a moment, then shrug.

"From the sound of it, I can't get in much worse trouble than that in which I already find myself," I remark. "And I don't think His Lordship the president - or his spoiled brat of a son - expect to win any popularity awards from someone who just came out the Hunger Games." Terrence smiles.

"You've got a point." We're both quiet for a moment, lost in our own thoughts, until the door bangs open and a flurry of color and noise enters the room.

"Oh dear, we've been looking all over for you! We thought you must have already gone downstairs - do you realize how _late _we're going to be?" Deena hustles us off the bed, pausing long enough to deliver an air-kiss to the vicinity of my cheek. "You look lovely dear, now _hurry!_"

* * *

Somehow, I end up squished between Regina and Aquavius as we all rush down. My mentor glances down at me, raking her eyes along my dress and simple hairstyle before meeting my gaze. "You did good," she tells me quietly, and I blink in confusion. I thought Regina hated me, maybe even wanted me to get killed, and now it's...I've done good? _Well. I've done well, _I think, automatically correcting her grammar, then look up at her.

"Thanks," I say. She nods and looks straight ahead of her again, her jaw clenched. I glance around at the rest of my entourage, noting their expressions for the first time. Terrence is looking perfectly blank, a sure sign that something's roiling around in his mind. Deena looks grimmer than I've ever seen her look, and even my prep team hurry along with a sense of purpose that seems so totally unsuited to their shallow natures. Together, they all encircle me, a throng of persons with me in the middle, and the realization hits me like an arrow: They're protecting me. A human shield surrounding me, in case any passing Peacekeepers should "trip" and accidentally set off their guns.

I stumble a little on the hem of my dress, and Aquavius catches me and sets me back on my feet. It occurs to me that we're moving very quickly, and I wonder why Deena didn't bother to look for us in the obvious place first. _Maybe so if something happens between here and the stage, you'll have the perfect alibi for why you're all running off together, _the little voice in my head suggests, and I almost stumble again. Of course, the little voice is right. Deena must surely know what's at risk here, and Capitolian though she may be, she's no idiot.

A warm feeling wells up inside me, and I resist the urge to reach out and take the hands of those closest to me. Despite the gravity of the situation, I feel happy and almost safe with those who love me surrounding me, ready to protect me if something should arise...and doubtless Tantore is somewhere above me, watching over me as well.

We arrive beneath the stage, slightly windswept looking and very much out of breath. My prep team flutters around me for a minute, straightening my twisted clothes and patting my hair a bit to get it back in order before Deena hustles them onto the metal plates. I flash them a smile as they start to rise upwards, and I think Violus gives an excited little squirm. I chuckle, and Regina looks at me inquiringly.

"The prep team," I say with another small laugh. "I bet they're so excited to be in the spotlight."

"Let's just hope they don't wet themselves," she responds, and suddenly we're both giggling ourselves silly, our fists stuffed in our mouths to stifle the noise. My escort and stylist look at us like we've gone completely mad, which sends us off again. Deena clucks disapprovingly as she steps onto the large metal disk, and I can't help giving her a cheery wave as she rises up onto the stage. Terrence looks at us oddly before taking his place, whispering something under his breath that sounds like, "Girls will be girls," which of course reduces me and my mentor to a state of near-hysteria. I wonder vaguely why we're being so flippant. It must be nerves.

I give Regina a small push towards her platform. "Scoot, you're up next," I whisper, "and your lift might leave without you." Regina snorts at the image as she steps onto the disk.

"And here's Miss Ilonwich's mentor, Invisigirl!" she whispers back, and I clap my hands to my mouth to stifle a shriek of laughter as my mentor composes herself and rises onto the stage.

It'll be my turn to appear next. I struggle to straighten my face as I walk to my spot, endeavoring to put on my old, dead-pan expression, but it simply won't come. Maybe it's because I can't shake off the mental picture of Regina's empty platform rising onto stage, and the confusion that would induce. Not to mention Caesar's reaction. Or maybe it's because life is too short and precious to waste being flat and blank.

I twitch in surprise as this occurs to me, and my face grows thoughtful. The Arena changed me, like it did everyone. Doubtless I would be damaged, but maybe there were some lessons to learn from it, as well._ How sappy, _I think irritably, but there's no getting around it.

My platform starts rising upwards, and I watch with mild interest as the Peacekeepers below me get shorter and shorter. I toy with the idea of shouting something to them, but discard it; already I'm emerging onto the stage, the brilliant lights dazzling my eyes as the roar of the crowd pounds on my eardrums.

Suddenly, my knees start shaking, and I'm grateful for the length of my skirt. I don't feel at all like a victor of the Hunger Games, I feel like a frightened little girl facing the entire nation - and worse, the recap of the Games. I swallow down a small cry and concentrate on not falling down.

Boy, my nerves are really acting up tonight.

I've just about decided to crumple down and pretend to have fainted when I feel Caesar's arm around my waist, guiding me to the victor's throne and helping me settle. A few minutes more of cheering and applause passes, and then things quiet down and Caesar starts the brief niceties before the recap.

"Welcome back, Miss Brandi Ilonwich," he says with a big, toothy grin. "It's good to see you back and, as usual, dazzling." I return the smile as the audience claps wildly, cheering my stylist. _If only you knew.. _I think to them, clenching my muscles to keep them from visibly shaking.

"Thanks Caesar. It's good to be back."

Caesar gives me a big smile. "Do you know, I think you're the first victor to ever say that. You've made a record!" The audience laughs, and I wait for them to calm down before replying.  
"Well, considering the alternative, I have to say I'm very glad to be back," I remark, and everyone laughs again, including Caesar. I think about the president's steely gaze, and force myself to chuckle, trying to make it look like a joke.

"Very reasonable," the Master of Ceremonies says, and I smile nervously. "Well, shall we get on with it?" The lights dim, and as the giant screen flickers into life, I slide my eyes out of focus, carefully arrange my face, and retreat back into my own mind. Not for anything would I relive the events of the past five and a half weeks.

The noise of the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games and all the spectators thereof echo around me for three hours, but I'm only vaguely aware of them. In my head, I'm wading through the tall grass of the pastures in District Ten as I bring the cows home in a peaceful summer evening.

* * *

Like many other traditions of the Games, the final interview has changed since the Third Quarter Quell. Instead of taking place the day after the recap, it takes place as soon as it's over, with everyone watching. It's a risky gamble for the Capitol, for nothing I say or do can be edited out now, but I also have less time to think about what I'm going to say. In short, it's bad for both of us.

I slowly come back to the present as the video draws to a close, blinking a few times and trying my best to look intelligent, instead of half asleep. Caesar is saying something to the audience, then turns to me.

"That. Was thrilling," he says fervently. "Wasn't it thrilling?" The crowd roars in agreement, and he laughs. I wait patiently for him to return his attention to me, sternly keeping my mind from wandering.

"Now, Brandi. Tell me. What was the most..." Somehow I get through it all, answering his questions and replying to his comments as carefully as I can, trying not to come across as stiff and closed, but also not imparting too much.

After a while, Caesar pauses, and his face takes on a gentle expression. I know what's coming, and clench my hands in my lap. I don't want to talk about it, especially not in front of everyone in Panem, but there's no way I can avoid it.

"And now...your ally. Tantore. He seemed, to some of us, to be more than a friend, I think. Was there anything more than an alliance in it?" he asks. I look at him, and I can tell by the look on his face that he didn't want to ask this, that someone higher up has laid a clever trap for me.

Time to put my acting skills to the test and see just how good a liar I am.

"No, there was...nothing like that," I say, my voice trembling a bit. "Nothing more than... a friendship... forged in desperation and instinctive trust." There is a collective sigh from the crowd, and I see one young woman in the front row mop her eyes with a pink handkerchief. "I won't say I didn't care for him, because I did. And...I might could have...cared for him more, if I had let myself."

"And you didn't?" Caesar tips the microphone towards me, a glimmer of sadness apparent behind the flashing gold eyelashes.

"No," I say, forcing my voice to be steady. "I knew I couldn't, not if I wanted to win. I just...tried not to think about it, mostly." Caesar looks faintly relieved, but it's not over yet. Not quite.

"When he died, I think we were all very grieved," he says quietly, and the audience murmurs in agreement. "Mostly because of how it obviously affected you. What went through your mind when it was confirmed he was dead? What did you feel at that moment?"

I no longer care that the whole nation is privy to this. I no longer care that the peace of Panem is at stake. I'm once more kneeling beside Tantore's unresponsive body, knowing he was gone.

"I felt...like it couldn't be real. Like the world was ending." My interviewer looks just slightly alarmed, and I force myself back into the present. "Somehow I never thought he could just die like that," I add. "He was always so strong, so...invincible, I thought." Caesar wipes his eyes, then reaches out and takes my hand.

"No one is invincible, though, are they?" he says gently, and I sincerely hope no one else has picked up on the meaning under the words. _Don't, Caesar, you'll only get in trouble! _I think frantically, but all I say is, "I guess not. I guess I just...I just..." Suddenly, my composure gives out, and I bury my face in my hands, whimpering into them. Part of me if absolutely mortified by the display of emotion on national television, but I also feel a small twinge of satisfaction. Katniss Everdeen didn't cry like this on stage. Nobody would rally around a crybaby to overthrow the Capitol just because said crybaby was upset.

Caesar is patting my arm comfortingly, and I look up after a moment, brushing a tear off my face. "I'm sorry," I say thickly, trying to recover what dignity I might have left. "It still upsets me to think about it."

"Of course it does," Caesar says quietly. "I think we're all still a bit upset." Everyone agrees. "But I have to know...was there anything else that you became aware of after his death? Anything else you felt?" I wrack my brains, trying to think of a way to repair any damage I've done.

"Yes," I say finally, my voice still small, but a little firmer. "There was hope, after that. I always thought Tantore would win - he was so much stronger than I am - but after he died, I knew there was nothing between me and victory." I can tell by the look in Caesar's eyes that I've said the right thing, and my heart gives a throb of relief. He is quick to turn the conversation to less painful topics.

"Nothing between you and victory - except a whole herd of those wild cows! Those things actually gave me nightmares. They were truly frightening, weren't they?" he says, addressing the crowd. They acknowledge, at great length, that they too were frightened. He turns back to me.

"The way you fought them all - I've never seen something so incredible! When you let go of your sword, and all you had was a whip, I thought my heart would stop."

"Oh no, I had a much better chance with the whip," I say. "And I certainly congratulate the Capitol on manufacturing such a fine thing." Everyone murmurs a bit, looking very pleased at the compliment, and I wait a minute before continuing. "As I said, I had a much better chance with the whip than that scimitar. I'd never wielded one of those before, and I've been herding cattle all my life."

"Herding cattle!" Caesar turns to the audience again. "Did you hear that? She was just herding cattle!" The crowd screams and applauds in admiration, and I can't help laughing a little, ducking my head.

After a few more minutes of rather pointless commentary, Caesar wraps up the interview, and we both rise. "Miss Brandi Ilonwich, the Bird Girl of District Ten!" he cries, lifting my hand into the air, and the audience just about loses it. My ears are ringing with all the noise as I am escorted off the stage and back to the blessed peace of the District Ten apartments.

* * *

I sit on my bed, contentedly playing with the large window-veiwscreen-thingy and basking in the knowledge that soon I would be going home. _Home. _I whisper the word into the darkness, savoring it, feeling a thrill pass along my spine. When my name was called at the reaping - no, before that. When I had the dream the night before and knew my name would be drawn at the reaping - I never thought I'd see District Ten ever again. But I had won the Games, and now I would be returning. I give a small squiggle of joy, flopping back onto the bed and kicking my heels a bit.

I am roused from my childish pursuits by a knock at the door, and I sit up with an unwelcome feeling of dread stealing over me. For one wild moment, I wonder how the president could make it look like an accident if he tossed me off the roof, but I shove the thought from my mind. Far more likely is the possibility of him arranging a train wreck while I'm on my way home.

I rise from the bed and pull a robe on over my sleepwear, picking up one of my high-heeled shoes I had discarded earlier and going cautiously to the door. "Who is it?" I ask in a low voice.

"It's me, Camillus. Let me in, please." I scowl at the dark wood, but toss my shoe aside and open the door.

"What do you want?" I ask, not very politely. He comes in and makes himself right at home, sitting down on a chair by my bed. "This is getting to be a bad habit of yours, and it's very inappropriate, not to mention damaging to my reputation." He ignores my pithy comments and just stares at me. I shift uncomfortably and sit down on the bed, my back stiff and straight.

"Will you please state your purpose in coming?" I ask a bit frigidly.

"I'm sorry about your ally," he says abruptly. "I know you loved him, I saw it in your face." My insides and fists clench, but I don't say anything. "This is very insensitive, I'm aware of that," Camillus continues, "and I'm sorry. But once you leave the Capitol, I might never see you again."

"What is it you want?" I demand stiffly - and almost pass out from shock when he responds.

"I want you to marry me," he states simply. I stare at him, trying to come to grips with what I've just heard. "I love you, and I don't ever want to let you go." He gets out of the chair and kneels down, pulling something out his pocket and holding out to me. In the pale light of the viewscreen, I see that it's a ring: Gold, with a pink topaz set in it.

I take a few deep breaths before replying. "And what makes you think I'd accept such an outrageous offer?" I say unkindly. "I'm not at all inclined to, you know."

"I think you will," he replies, "when you hear what I have to say." He sits back down in the chair, holding the ring loosely in his fingers.

"In a year or two, my father intends to resign from the presidency and retire, to enjoy the rest of his years without such a weighty responsibility. As I'm sure you're aware, the position will then pass to me."

"Like a monarchy," I mutter. "'President' is a completely misleading title."

"Quite," Camillus agrees blandly. "Anyway. I will then be in charge of the government, and have the ability to remove certain laws, make new ones, and all that sort of thing." He pauses.

"The point, pal. Get to the point," I say, just a trifle threateningly. He grins cheekily, and I heroically resist the urge to knock his teeth out.

"My first act as president will be to abolish the Hunger Games altogether," he says frankly, and I stare at him again. He must be joking. Get rid of the Games? Just like that?

"What's the catch?" I ask suspiciously. Not for anything will I trust this goon on just his word. Not like this, anyway.  
For answer, he brandishes the ring. "I'll only remove them if you will agree to marry me," he says. "For you, I'd do anything. But I want to be sure I have you before doing anything like that. Can't have you taking advantage of my authority."

Hatred, utter hatred rises up in me, and I glare at him, wishing I could shoot lightning bolts from my eyes and fry the dork in front of me.

"You don't even know me," I say coldly. "This is only the second time you've spoken to me - how do you know that you love me?" He leans forward a bit and stares into my eyes intensely.

"I watched you. Ever since the reaping, all through the Games I watched you. I saw what you were like then, I saw how you cared for your ally. And I wanted you to care for me like that. I think you will, eventually, and I don't want anyone else to get to you first." He holds out the ring in the palm of his hand again. "So what do you say?" he whispers. "Will you be the hero of the districts? Or a mentor for tributes for the rest of your life?" I don't say anything, but as his words sink in, I slowly hold out my hand, and he takes it gently, sliding the ring over my finger before squeezing it slightly and letting go, rising to his feet.

"Thank you, Brandi," he says softly. "I guess I'll be going back to District Ten with you, to meet your family." He stands looking at me for a minute, but I keep my eyes down and still say nothing. "I'm...sorry it had to be so abrupt," he says. He receives no reply, and after a moment he turns to go.

He has just reached the door when at last I speak.

"I will never care for you like I did Tantore," I say, my low voice carrying across the room to him. "You know that as well as I." He opens his mouth as if to respond, then closes it and exits the room, leaving me alone.

I stare at the gem twinkling on my finger before flinging myself down and burying my face in my pillow to smother my screams of misery.

* * *

**Well! It took me ages to update this story, I know. I'm just so thoroughly tired of it by now. I just hope I can wrap it up in another chapter or two. XD Anyway, it's up now. :) Review? Pretty please with cream on top? **


	16. Chapter 16: Home Again

"I thought this would be the happiest day of my life, but now that I know my freedom won't last more than a year or so, it's not very happy at all. I don't ever want to leave Laterose, I don't want to leave District Ten again, and I most definitely don't want to marry Camillus Snow. He's probably the last person in the world I'd want to marry. Except maybe his father." I blow a lock of hair out my eyes, scowling. "I could have refused him, I suppose, but then I'd have to live with my conscience for the rest of my life, and that would be marginally worse than living with him."

My prep team, to whom these confidences are being poured out, all make sympathetic noises. "At least you get to live in the Capitol," Antilla says consolingly. "Just think! You'll live in a giant house, wear the very latest fashions, and ride around in your own private limmo or hovercraft whenever you want to go somewhere. You'll be the very highest of society, the most dazzling and famous lady in the whole nation!" She and Violus sigh, clearly envying the prestigious life before me.

But said prestigious life is exactly what I don't want. "I don't want to be famous," I object. "I've never wanted all that. I just want my quiet life on the farm back. I'm not like y'all, I don't want to be well known, and have to attend countless formal parties and receptions and I-don't-know-what-all for the rest of my life." My lip has managed somehow to stick out in a pout, and I sternly bring it back in.

"You're well known already," Aquavius points out, looking up from my nails that he's shaping. My three colorful friends insisted on prettying me up, just subtly, for my homecoming. "You just won the Hunger Games. There's hardly a person in Panem who doesn't know your name and face." I grimace.

"I don't want that fame, either," I say glumly. "And I don't know which is worse, being famous for being the only survivor of a mass slaughter, or being famous for being the idiot that married the president's weird son." My companions, not sharing my viewpoints, decline to comment, and continue working in silence, letting me talk. "I suppose I'm just going to have to resign myself to being famous for both, and to the fact that my life will be utterly miserable for the rest of my days."

Antilla finishes trimming my eyebrows and looks at me directly. "You'll be close to us," she says. "Does that make things better?" All three of them look at me hopefully, and I can't prevent the affectionate smile from spreading over my face.

"You bet it does," I tell them. "You'll be the brightest spots in my new life." They all beam, their dear, warm, silly little hearts doubtless bursting within them.

"Group hug!" Violus squeals happily, and I find myself yanked into a jumble of colorful arms and bright, scented hair. I grunt slightly as one of the gems on Antilla's arm digs sharply into my shoulder, but my prep team fails to notice my discomfort and squeezes me and each other for about two full minutes, twittering happily to each other. I disentangle myself after a bit, laughing slightly.

"Alright now, if you want to make me pretty before we get home, you'd best get to it," I say with a smile. "We should be there soon, I think." They all flock around me, finishing their tasks and chattering with the anticipation of seeing my birthplace. In their eyes and minds, I'm already famous, and anything connected to me is cause for excitement.

I tune out their babble and stare out the train windows, watching the green and brown blurs flash past. Even if I'm only coming home for a brief time, it's still home, and I'm desperate to see Laterose. I wonder how the farm is doing, and what the small house will smell like when I go inside. Knowing my sister, she'll have been baking something special for my return, and the thought of her cooking makes my mouth water. I give the tiniest of bounces, eager to get off the train and feel the firm, dirty ground of District Ten beneath my feet again.

"We're slowing down," Aquavius says suddenly, effectively jerking me out of my reverie. I jump to my feet and run across the compartment, pressing my nose to the window. He's right, the train is rapidly losing velocity, and the blurs outside have taken the definite shapes of trees and dusty buildings.

I race to the door, almost colliding with Terrence, Deena, and Camillus as they come through. "What in the world?" Deena exclaims, but I pay no attention, streaking through the hallway to the sliding door of the exit. I push it open, almost toppling over as the wind rushes into the car in a powerful gust, threatening to throw my carefully bound hair into disarray. I ignore it, gazing out at District Ten with glowing eyes. I know where we are; we'll be at the station in just a minute.

Cheering people have gathered on the streets, and I wave to them, smiling as broadly as they. We have slowed enough for me to pick out familiar faces in the crowd, and I peer around eagerly, looking for someone in particular. Surely she was here, she had to- Yes! There! The long, golden hair is unmistakeable, the blue eyes, bright with tears, standing out like beacons.

I don't even wait for the train to fully stop before I leap out the doorway, eliciting cries of alarm from the entourage behind me. I stagger, almost falling to my knees, but I scramble to gain my footing and start running. The crowd, still cheering wildly and slapping my back as I dash past, respectfully parts, and I run straight into my sister's arms, smacking against her so hard we nearly fall over.

"Oh Brandi, oh Brandi!" she sobs, burying her face in my shoulder. I've grown in my absence, and I'm nearly as tall as she is. "Oh Brandi, thank God you're back! You're alright, you're alright!" We're both trembling so hard it's a wonder we're still upright.

I squeeze my eyes shut, tightening my grip on her and hiding my face in the soft blond tresses. "I missed you so much, Rosie," I say, my voice muffled. "So very, very much."

"I missed you too," she says, her voice catching slightly. She pulls back and tilts my chin up, smiling at me through her tears. "Let me look at you. Oh, you're beautiful, just beautiful!" She hugs me again, and I sniff happily.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up, smiling at Terrence as he gives my shoulder a squeeze. A light flashes in my peripheral vision, and I realize that camera crews are already very busy, taking picture after picture and babbling excitedly. I don't take my arms from around Laterose, half afraid she'll be swept away from me in the throng, trying to smile for all the cameras at once and feeling rather dazed with it all.

It's with a great deal of relief that I observe Deena as she starts shooing reporters and camera crews away and leading us to the car that will take us back to the farm. We all troop over to it, and Terrence opens the door for me. I scramble into the backseat, and Laterose climbs in after me. "I've got so much to tell you," she whispers as my prep team piles in after us. "I've got a huge surprise waiting for you, but- Oh Brandi!" She has caught sight of the ring on my finger, and her eys grow wide. "You're married!"

I glance down at it, swallowing hard, my euphoria starting to dissipate. "No, but it's almost as bad. I'm engaged." My sister looks up at me with glowing eyes.

"That's wonderful, isn't it?" she says. I snort.

"Not when you find out who the unlucky guy is." She looks at me questioningly, and I point to the top of Camillus' head as it pokes over the top of the front seat. "Him." Laterose eyes what bit of him she can see.

"I was wondering who he was and what he was doing here," she murmurs. "He looks like the president's son."  
"He is the president's son," I whisper. "And a more selfish, manipulative, punch-drunk wretch I have yet to meet." My sister presses a handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"He can't be that bad, or you'd never have engaged yourself to him," she says reasonably, and I scowl.

"He's every bit that bad, ducky. I only agreed to marry him because he said he'd abolish the Hunger Games when he took office if I did." Laterose leans back and stares at me, shocked.

"He didn't?!" she breathes, and I nod.

"Yes, he did. You don't think I'd accept his proposal for anything less than that, do you?" She laughs quietly, relaxing against the seat behind her.

"I don't know, I haven't even met him yet," she points out, gentle amusement etched on her face. "You have a knack for exaggerating people's bad points, you know."

I gaze at her with fond exasperation. "Trust me, I'm not exaggerating Camillus' character," I say. "If anything, I'm being kind to him." Laterose giggles quietly, and I poke her in the side, making her giggle harder. "I'm being serious here!" She pokes me back, and I double over, chewing my knuckle to keep from laughing aloud. "Stop, that tickles!" She drapes an arm around my shoulders, and we settle down, content to feel each others' presence again.  
I sigh quietly. It's so good to be home.

* * *

A shaft of bright sunlight cuts across my eyes, and I groan, turning over and burying my face in my pillow. "Go away," I tell it muffledly, but it continues beaming down on me with cheerful persistence, heating the back of my head. I grumble and turn my back on the window, determined to get some more sleep.

The door bangs open, and three persons practically fall over each other into my room before galumphing to my bed and throwing my covers back. I groan again and clamp my pillow over my head, trying to shut out the bright faces of my prep team.

"Your sister sent us to get you up!" Violus trills grabbing one of my limp arms and tugging. "She said to do whatever it takes, so long as we're successful."

Antilla grabs my ankles and yanks me around on the bed. "Aquavius, get on the other side and roll her," she orders. Beneath my pillow, my eyes pop open in alarm, and I emerge into the bright light, shaking off their insistent hands and sitting up.

"I'm up, I'm up," I say groggily. " No rolling. What time is it?"

Violus dances around my bed impatiently. "Breakfast time!" she exclaims. "And Laterose said to hurry up, she wants to have a homecoming party for you today!" I give a crooked smile as I make an ungainly exodus out of my nice, comfy bed.

"She would," I remark, stretching and rubbing my eyes. "Where is she now?"

"Giving Mr. Camillus a tour of the farm," Aquavius replies, bringing over my clothes and trying to straighten the wrinkles out. "She likes him, I think. Brandi, why don't you let Terrence design all your clothes from now on? These are so very hideous." I frown, about to say something testy before I remind myself that they're Capitol people, unused to and unappreciative of the simpler things in life - including comfortable work clothes.

"It wouldn't be practical," I say tolerantly. "Besides, his designs are so wonderful they should be treasured, and saved for special occasions." My prep team considers this, accepts it, and bounces out the door, tossing back another admonishment to hurry, apparently passed on from my sister.

I smile to myself as I shrug out of my pajamas and pull on my day clothes. It feels so, _so _good to be home and safe again. My eyes glaze slightly as I remember the horror of the Games, the fear of falling asleep, in case I shouldn't wake up ever again, the anthem blaring as the night sky was lit with the face of yet another dead tribute, the anxiety of facing yet another day in the Arena, not knowing who or what I might encounter...

I give myself a firm shake, forcing the gloomy thoughts from my head. It would do no good to dwell on the Games, they were passed now - and, if my fiancee was to be trusted, they would be gone for good.

I finish dressing and tie my hair up in a haphazard ponytail, trotting downstairs. The Victor's Village was destroyed in the rebellion, so the Capitol sent troops of construction workers and supplies to District Ten as soon as I'd won to Games to erect a new house for us. This suits me just fine; I was never happy about the prospect of having to leave the farm, but I can't pretend a larger house isn't welcome.

Whistling cheerily, I enter the spacious living room just as Laterose and Camillus come in from outside. "Oh good, you're up!" my sister says. "I like your prep team. They didn't seem at all bothered when I assigned them the task of rousting you out of bed."

"They were certainly promising to be efficient," I agree. "I quelled them just before they tipped me out onto the floor." Laterose laughs, and I wrinkle my nose at her.

"Hurry up and have breakfast, I want to have a bit of a celebration today," she says, looking completely unabashed at her methods of 'rousting me out of bed'. "You will make your ginger cake, won't you?" I smile at her shining face, unable to stay grouchy with her.

"Naturally. I like it as much as you do." She beams.

"Good. I'll take care of the livestock today so you can do that." With a wave of her hand, she's out the door again, crossing the lawn to our barn. I watch her go with affectionate eyes.

"Can I talk to you?" Camillus asks in a low voice, and I start. I'd almost forgotten he was here.

"Alright," I say, my voice taking on the suspicious tone reserved especially for him. He sits down on the sofa, fidgeting a bit, and I'm reminded of the first time I met him.

I dislike him as much now as I did then.

"The night I proposed to you, you said you'd never care for me," he begins. "Are you still sure of that?"

"Positive," I answer, very decidedly. He looks simultaneously offended and, for some reason, relieved. The resultant expression is so comical I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

"Then...I won't hold you to it," he says, and I stare at him, very much surprised. "You don't have to marry me. I...I realize that whatever I felt for you, it wasn't real love, and I've found someone I care for more."

I suppose I should be offended myself, but all I can feel is a rushing sense of glorious release. The thought of the Games doesn't even occur to me, so great is my relief at not having to marry this goon.

"Who is it?" I ask, trying to hide the interest in my voice. "It's not Violus, by any chance? She's got a frightful crush on you, and being the president's wife would send her over the moon." Camillus shakes his head, a half smile on his face.

"No, it's someone a million times sweeter and more beautiful, and...and just more wonderful, than Violus."

"Well, _who?_"

"Your sister. Laterose."

I stare at him again. And my world, which had been spinning so giddily for the past minute, comes to an abrupt stop and slowly turns upside down. He's not serious. He _can't _be serious. Him? Marry Laterose? He can't be...

He's serious. I can tell by the look on his face, and the tone of his voice when he speaks.

"I'm sorry Brandi. I know it's sudden, and-"

"Don't apologize to me," I say, finding my voice with difficulty. "Apologize to Rose. If she's crazy enough to marry you, she's going to be the one left a widow." I stand up and head towards the door before remembering something and turning back. "Here. This is yours again, thank goodness." I pull the ring off my finger and toss it in his lap before going out.

* * *

"But you actually _like _him?" I ask for the fourteenth time, pushing Juney's questing nose out of my face and staring at my sister in disbelief. Juney moos at me in irritation, but I ignore her. "You really, truly, honest-to-goodness _like _Camillus Snow?" Laterose heaves a long suffering sigh and looks up from the dish she's filling with milk for the barn cats.

"Yes Brandi, I do," she says patiently. "He was nothing but polite and gentlemanly to me all morning, and under the first spoiled layer, he's really very sweet. If you'd stop scaring him to death and trying to discourage him at every turn, you'd find that out for yourself." I scowl down into the milk pail, not meeting my sister's gaze.

"I don't _want _to find that out for myself," I protest defensively. "I don't want to like him - and besides, it's pointless for me to do so now, he's smitten with you." Laterose tucks a wisp of golden hair behind her ear, coaxing a kitten to the bowl of milk.

"Then I don't see why you're so upset that we're interested in each other," she says calmly. "You know I'd never admit I was if I thought you loved him, and you've readily assured me that you don't. What's the problem now? Why do you still dislike him so? Why won't you let me convince you of his good traits?" I sit down next to her, taking one of her slim hands in both my own.

"Matter of principle, ducky," I answer. "Terrence could propose to you, and I'd automatically become highly distrustful and possibly hostile to him. And if I'd do that to dear Terrence, it's a no-brainer that I'd very much dislike Camillus." Laterose laughs, pulling her hand from mine and giving me a gentle shove.

"Go on and get that cake made," she tells me, and I obediently lope out of the barn and back to the house. I see my former fiancee and Deena coming towards the barn, both looking happily purposeful.

"Wart," I say rudely to Camillus as I pass. Deena looks shocked, but the president's son doesn't seem unduly surprised at my insult, though perhaps a trifle indignant. Snickering, I enter the sunny kitchen and take a deep breath, relishing the scent of clean wood and the feel of the warm sun. I stand quietly a moment, enjoying the peace, before crossing to the sink and getting to work.

* * *

I hum a catchy tune as I carefully slide the cake into the oven and start mixing up the lemon glaze. Everything seems to be working out: I'm home again, I don't have to marry Camillus, and it'll be the easiest thing in the world to bump him off once he's revoked the Hunger Games. It gives me a pang of regret to know I'll be leaving Laterose a widow, but perhaps she'll meet and marry some decent chap that I don't have to get rid of by drastic means.

Someone comes into the kitchen behind me, and a hand appears, dipping briefly into the glaze. I lay a stern whack across the knuckles with my spoon, and the hand hastily withdraws.

"Ouch!" a plaintive voice exclaims. "That hurt, Bird-Girl!" I brandish my utensil threateningly.

"Be glad it was just...a...spoon..." My voice trails off as the words and the deep, slow, resonant tone sink into my brain. I slowly turn around, almost too afraid to look.

Tantore is standing right behind me, sucking his fingers and looking aggrieved. He brightens up when he sees my face and flashes me a big grin. "Miss me?"

A glass standing on the table explodes in a shower of sharp pieces as I give vent to a piercing shriek and fling myself into Tantore's open arms. "It's you," I sob, shaking violently as I cling to him, "you're real, you're alive, it's really you!" He rubs my back soothingly as I cry before brushing shards of glass off a chair and sitting me down in it, kneeling in front of me and holding my hands as I slowly recover from my hysteria.

"I've been waiting for you a long time, Bird-Girl," he says as I hiccup my way into silence. "You've been ages in getting back." I reach out and brush the tawny hair off his forehead, still not entirely convinced he's real.

"How is it possible?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. "You were dead, that boy from One said he killed you. How can you be here, now?..." Tantore grins flippantly.

"The Capitol should be more careful about who they pluck out of the Arena," he says, the hint of a chuckle rumbling in his voice. "I wasn't quite dead - though I didn't know it, of course - and a certain team of doctors apparently revived me. They pumped the water out my lungs, got my heart started again, fed me some air, and somehow it all worked out, and I pulled through. I got shipped here to Ten in secret as soon as I could be moved, and now here I am. And here you are - at last." He peers at me sternly, as if my tardiness were my own fault. I scowl at him, and he laughs.

"Why would they do that, though?" I say, thoroughly befuddled. "The doctors, and the pilot that brought you here. Why would they do that? Surely they knew they'd be killed if anyone found out they did it."

"Apparently, they'd be punished if they didn't," Tantore replies. "Turns out, there was a certain young man that blackmailed them all - er, I mean, pulled some strings - and got them to do it. I got to talk to him, and believe me, I asked him why he did it, too. I thought he must have wanted something from me. But he claimed that he did it for you. He said that he saw that you...that you loved me, and he wanted to do something for you that would mean more than the world to you." I sit very still, staring off into space in utter shock. Camillus was responsible for this? He did this for _me? Camillus? _Maybe Laterose was right. Maybe he isn't as bad as I think. Admittedly, he did employ blackmail to achieve his means, but still...

Tantore is watching me, almost shyly. "Do you?" he asks in a low voice. I come out of my stunned trance and look at him.

"Do I what?"

"You know...love me." He says the last two words quickly, and turns red a bit.

I don't even hesitate. "Yes, I do," I say promptly. "I love you very much, more than I thought it was possible for me to love a boy." His eyes glow, and he pulls something from his pocket.

"Enough to accept this?" he asks, and offers it to me. It's a ring. A silver ring, with two small pearls on either side of an aquamarine. I smile. A District Four ring. A ring from the sea.

My reaction to it is much different than it was to Camillus' ring. "I think, perhaps, that I can love you that much," I announce, holding out my hand. "After all, it's a very pretty trinket." Tantore chuckles and slides it over my finger, gathering me into a big bear hug. I rest my chin on his muscular shoulder and close my eyes. "I never thought I'd see you again," I murmur. He rubs his cheek against my hair, giving me a gentle squeeze.

"I know, Bird-Girl. But I'm here now. And I will never leave you again."

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**Wow, two chapters in two days! That is definitely a record for me. :D The epilogue will be coming soon. :) Please review! It would make me so happy. **


	17. Epilogue

_Dear Diary,_  
_My sister turned seventeen today. She also got married. I don't think I've ever seen her so happy in my life - but heavens, what a day! _

_The trouble actually started yesterday, when the president arrived. Apparently, Camillus sent him word that Brandi's wedding was today, but neglected to mention that it was not he whom she was marrying. The president wasn't very happy when he got here, and Brandi even less so. She frogmarched poor Camillus out to the barn, looking incredibly stormy, and we could hear her yelling all the way inside the house. I'm surprised my fiancee isn't completely deaf._

_Today was even worse. I've lived with Brandi for seventeen years, and yet I never knew just how much trouble she can cause. I made the mistake of letting her run wild, enjoying her last day of unmarried life, while Deena and I took care of all the last minute preparations for her wedding. Barely an hour after breakfast, I was already regretting it. _

_To start with, I found her sitting alone in the living room, diligently mending a chair cushion. I wouldn't have suspected her of any devilry at that point - except that I had already mended that cushion last night. I decided I'd better investigate, and it was a good thing I did, too. She'd ripped out a side seam and stuffed it full of tacks, points upward, so when the president sat down on it he'd get a very unwelcome surprise! _

_Needless to say, I confiscated it and sent my sister outside, where, I hoped, she wouldn't cause any disasters. _

_I should have known better. _

_About half an hour after the tacks episode, Camillus came into the kitchen, looking very frowsy, and asked if he might borrow a bucket. He was very dirty, he explained, and didn't want to make the bathtub completely filthy, so he was going to pre-rinse. _

_Turns out, Brandi had lured him into the barn, then hid in the haymow and tipped a pile of moldy straw down on him. _

_Camillus went off to wash, and I hunted up my sister - she was still outside, letting the air out of the tires of the president's private car - and gave her a good telling off. She didn't seem at all abashed, which isn't surprising, and told me I take all the fun out of being brilliant-minded._

_I finally had to enlist Terrence's help to keep her out of mischief, and he rose to the occasion magnificently. He asked her to show him the country around our farm, and that kept her occupied for a couple of hours. But eventually he had to get back to work on her wedding dress, and she promptly started making more trouble._

_I'll draw a curtain over the rest of the afternoon. Suffice it to say, if I hadn't had Deena, Terrence, and Brandi's prep team here to lend their capable hands, my sister wouldn't have gotten married this evening. Fortunately, we managed to keep the house in one piece and got the wedding cake made, which was what mattered the most._

_Even __**right before **__Tantore arrived, (he owns the farm that used to belong to Peter Peck, a couple of miles from ours,) Brandi was still doing her level best to wreck everything. I went upstairs to help her dress, and caught her, wearing only her underclothes and a robe, sneaking out of Camillus' room. _

_Now, to anyone who doesn't know Brandi, that would look very, very bad. But I do know her, and so it looked even worse. I inspected the room, but nothing seemed disturbed or out of place, so I thought maybe she had changed her mind about whatever mischief she'd been planning. _

_I should have known better. _

_It wasn't till Camillus was putting on his dress clothes that we found out what she had done - which was to drop a pair of dead rats in his boots. _

_I had no idea boys could scream like that. _

_Poor Camillus was frightfully embarrassed, and kept insisting that he's not the least bit afraid of rats, but it was very startling to put his boots on and feel something furry squish under his feet. And now, of course, he has to get new boots, because these smell like decaying rodents._

_The long and short of it is, I've had a very trying day, and I'm surprised I have any hair - or house guests - left. _  
_But once evening came, it was all worth it. I've never seen my sister look so happy, so radiant, so...so utterly content. Terrence made her dress, and it was beautiful: A simple white shift with a lavender overlay and long, fluttering, open sleeves that only covered her shoulders. He sewed pearls onto the upper parts of them, and she wore a pearl necklace, earrings, and headband. It was all very simple and understated, but my sister has never looked so elegant. Terrence truly has magic in his hands, I think. _

_The house seems awfully quiet with Brandi gone, even though it's far from silent. Even now, I can hear Antilla, Aquavius, and Violus downstairs, crying their eyes out. The poor dears are very glad that Tantore is alive, and even more glad that Brandi is happy, but they're positively crushed that she won't be a president's wife. They're always very sweet to me, but it's my sister that they especially love, and they're so disappointed that she won't be living in the Capitol with them._

_The Capitol! It seems so very far away from District Ten. I don't suppose I'll be seeing much of Brandi in the future. Terrence has decided that he doesn't want to go back to the Capitol for good, and he's going to rent this farm once I'm married, which is a great comfort to me. I'm glad to think that he'll be close to Brandi when I'm gone. _

_Speaking of Terrence, I think he's calling me now. He very kindly agreed to make my wedding dress as well, and he probably needs me for a fitting. He's really a wonderful man, and I'm almost sorry he's so much older than I am, and a determined bachelor. As it is, I shall just have to content myself with Camillus. _

_Laterose Ilonwich _

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**Well, this is the end of the line. After almost three years, I've finally finished this story. FINALLY! The very first one I finished! I'm just flipping out over here. :D But I'm also a little sad. I've gotten so used to and fond of these characters, I shall miss them, and now that their story is finished, they won't need to talk to me anymore. :/  
**

**But at least I've finished a story! :D A thousand thank yous to my viewers, especially the ones that have stuck it out to the end, and even more thank yous to my two reviewers, Brievel and waveringshadow. I especially want to thank Brievel for not letting me drop this story, which I probably would have about two years ago if it weren't for her and my dance teacher. (And my dance teacher's husband.)**

**Anyway. Here's the finished product, and I hope you've enjoyed it. :) Thank you all so much for reading. Hugs to you, and God bless you. **


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